Black and Blond
by My-name-is-foxglove
Summary: Theme 64, The Scenery From a Car Seat: You understand the meaning behind a blink of his eyelid, and that is natural. You're a pack of dogs crawling in the muck and trying to stay alive; the leader must be understood and obeyed -trusted- without question.
1. Military Personnel

**Black and Blond**

Author's Note: I haven't written fanfiction for about two weeks, so I decided to take up that old RoyAi 100 themes on TouchStone; you know the one. Some'll be sort, some'll be long; first one's here, see if you like it. EDIT: 10.11.2011 I've decided to go back and edit this first chapter. I mean, when I compared it, it was really low in quality compared to my later themes. -covers face- It's like an old shame. But I'm really glad people still liked the old version of the theme enough to check out more of my work. I hope this re-haul doesn't ruin that, but only makes it better.

* * *

He's finally standing here. Finally.

After all those years of struggle, the Fuhrer's uniform seems ridiculously light on his frame. He almost feels like he should be wearing an eye-patch, or humming some eccentric ditty. Such large shoes to fill.

Roy Mustang. Fuhrer. He used to talk about it with such determination and bravado, but now that it's come to it, he's standing in front of the pedestal, facing a country, and his mouth feels_ so very dry_.

How out of character, he thinks, swallowing.

But it's just for a moment.

He's both strong and weak enough for it to last that long. (_Because he knows that Feury is with the Security team, switching wires and talking into his mic. Because he sees Falman in the first row of the military, shining medals and blue uniforms, saluting with his lips curved wide. Because Breda and Havoc are right behind him, on their feet, eyes sharp and pistols in their holsters. And because just a little behind him, there's..._)

He glances at her, out of the corner of his eye.

Back straight, chin tilted up, blond hair cut ruthlessly short. She's made to be a soldier, really, except-

She glances back at him, and he sees soft words and quiet loyalty and everything that's makes her _so much mor_e than a soldier.

Their eyes do all the talking. Just for a moment.

And then they are both looking forward again, his shoulders a little bit straighter.

Dry mouth? Him? Ha.

He didn't have any shoes to fill. He was going to make a new path, a new future. He was going to re-establish democracy, get rid of the military's power, and make this country and its people be **safe.**

Safe from conspiracies, safe from cover-ups, safe from genocides.

He was going to do it all, and she and they and everyone- they would be all right behind him. Supporting him.

* * *

"Citizens. I address you today as your Fuhrer..."


	2. Gunshot

Author's Note: Slightly edited as of 10.11.2011

* * *

When Roy heard the gunshot, he thought of her.

He thought of her before Ishval: his teacher's daughter,

Riza.

* * *

_Roy found her in the old house's equally old garden, staring at the tall tree that grew in the middle of long grass and dead weeds. The soft September sun revealed glimpses of gold in her short hair, coming and going as the wind played with blond strands. Anxiety was clear in her amber eyes._

_"Riza? What's wrong?" The sixteen year old asked, skilf__ully maneuvering __h__is feet past several weeds he'd learnt were poisonous as he approached her._

_Riza glanced at him, "Mr Mustang..." Before turning back and biting her lip, gazing up at the highest, leafy branches. "I was cleaning...the wind blew and...and...Mother..." Roy's eyes widened as he heard her mention the all but forbidden word. She bit her lip harder. "Mother's hat..."_

_Immediately, Roy turned his head and, narrowing his eyes, spotted a blur of white clinging onto almost the tip of the oak tree. Understanding clicked in his mind._

_Riza continued, keeping her eyes on the hat, "I'm not allowed to climb that tree...it's old and rotting..." Her eyes glazed over with a bad memory, "And the last time I tried Father-," She blinked as Roy suddenly held out his jacket to her. Surprised, she automatically took it._

"_Alright then," He grinned and walked up to the tree, searching for the steadiest branch at his level._

_Riza stared at him, perplexed, "Mr Mustang?"_

"_I climbed a lot of trees when I was a kid," He answered her unspoken query, and hoisted himself up a branch with a mild grunt, "Shouldn't be too hard now."_

_Riza's eyes widened as he climbed up another, "But you'll fall!" she protested, stepping forwards, anxious._

_"No, I won't." He assured her, barely glancing back. "You'll see." He scaled another branch._

"_You will! Mr Mustang, come down!"_

_And another branch, and another...and another..._

"_I won't."_

_He was at least 30 feet high now, Riza thought, frustrated as she stared up at him, "Mr Mustang, please come down!"_

"_You're really worried about me," He noted, cheerfully glancing down at her with a pleased grin. The wind harshly blew, slightly rocking the tree._

"_Mr Mustang__!" Riza was really panicking now, "Mr Mustang, leave the hat! Just come down!"_

"_No." Unlike before, his voice was now completely serious as he climbed, not facing her. "That's your mother's hat. It means a lot to you, doesn't it?"_

"_W-well yes, but-!"_

"_Then I'm not coming down until I get it for you."_

* * *

When Roy heard the gunshot, he thought of her.

He thought of her during Ishval: the one good memory he had, tainted with a killer's eyes.

Cadet Hawkeye.

* * *

_He stared at her as they marched back home. She was barely showing the pain from his flames (He's stopped wincing at the reminder. If she could be strong about it, then so could he.). __If it wasn't for the fact that she bit her lip whenever someone bumped into her, he might've been able to deceive himself with the illusion that she was fine and not in any pain at all._

_He wanted to do something more. He wanted to cling to her and beg for forgiveness. He wanted to scream and shout at his teacher's grave. He wanted to burn his gloves and offer her their ashes. He wanted to do something, anything, nothing-_

_Then she turned around._

_Her eyes, he saw, were not sad, not angry, not happy._

_They were merely there.  
_

_But** they were there**. And they were not a killer's eyes. They were **Riza's.**  
_

_**Riza's.**  
_

* * *

When Roy heard the gunshot, he thought of her.

He thought of her after Ishval: his stubborn companion as he chased after a faraway dream.

Lieutenant Riza Hawkeye.

* * *

_Roy would never, ever admit it to anyone, but a part of him was so guiltily, guiltily relieved when she joined him. Even when he knew the danger, knew the risks, knew just how badly this could all go to hell._

_He wasn't sure he could do this without her by his side and__ a part of him was so (horribly)__ relieved__ she had joined him in the end._

_''Sir?'' She glanced at him, silently asking if he was alright._

_He grabbed the paperwork with a wry grin. ''It's nothing, Lieutenant.''_

_Life wasn't perfect, but it was good.  
_

* * *

When he heard the gunshot, Roy thought of her, thought of who she was, and where she was, and where the sound was coming from and-

''_LIEUTENANT!_''


	3. Battlefield

Author's Note: Alright, either SOMEBODY reviews or I will never post another Theme on fanfiction AGAIN!!!!!!!!!

* * *

John Grove was a good man, thought Roy, staring silently at the corpse in front of him, his throat drier than the crimson stained sand at his feet.

A good man, he thought again, attempting to swallow.

A good listener who had never judged anyone; not the Amestrians, not the Ishvalites- not the alchemists either.

He had just sat down, had just listened with unchanging clean cut brown hair, muddy brown eyes and patience.

He had killed quickly on the battlefield, Roy remembered, doing his best to give his victims a painless death.

''You....have a wife a-and kid waiting at home- for you...remember?'' Roy asked, his voice hoarse as he knelt down, close enough to see the bullet wound in the middle of dried blood. How many hours had he lain here, blood gushing out from his side, a small part of Roy's mind wondered. How many hours had he waited, waited for someone, _anyone _to…

''Hey,'' Roy's voice grew hoarser, lower- even more urgent and grieved ''John. Hey. Hey!'' he started to shake, eyes unwillingly starting to cloud over as he pleaded with a dead man ''Hey! John! You told us, remember?! Mary! Alec! They're waiting for you, Goddamnit!!'' Roy pounded at the crimson-stained sand, the soulless eyes of corpses watching him as he lamented.

-----

Hours, almost centuries later, the young flame alchemist lay on his knees, numb. His eyes were bloodshot, dry as they stared at the corpse of his fallen comrade.

''I can't face her.'' He told him suddenly, his voice barely a whisper ''I can't John, I can't… I…I wanted to ask you- how- how I could possibly face her after all I've done.'' Roy hunched down, pressed his chin down on his chest, his eyes panicking, urgent, afraid ''But now I can't, can I? I can't ask you. I can't face her- can't see her- I can't, can't, can't-'' he choked, his own grief rising up his throat and blocking his airway "B-but I want to, John, I _want to_ so bad it _hurts_! I-I-!" his breathing quickened, then slowed as he whispered fearfully "I th-thought, when I came here, when I _saw_, I-I _promised_ myself I wouldn't think of her, wouldn't taint her image with this-this earth-bound hell." Glazed over eyes stared at his comrade's face, a guilty confession whispered out of chapped lips "But I...at night..I'm scared....alone...I think of her....I think of her. I think of old days....when we were young...I think of her, with her blond hair shining and- and her eyes- beautiful amber eyes…she's smiling at me- a-and I'm smiling and everything- everything's right again…"

Roy's eyes unglazed and he stared out at the crimson-stained sand, smoke tainted sky- dozens upon dozens of corpses littered on the ground.

"But...nothing's right, John." he said, a boy, barely grown, thrust onto the battle field.

"Nothing."


	4. Grave

Author's Note: Thankyou all dearly for the reviews and Alerts! Now see, threats are definitely the way to get reviews! *gets attacked with bricks* Ack, or not. Anyway, sorry this one's not long, but the other's gonna be up soon and after that there should be a pretty long one :) Timeline is awhile after Ishval, just after Roy made Riza his Lieuetenant.

P.S: In case no on noticed, all these themes are and will be manga-based, sorry ^^;;

* * *

Riza Hawkeye was not a sentimental person. Of course, working in the military guaranteed that one would not be overly emotional, but the emotions of Lieutenant Hawkeye, it was widely agreed among military personnel, were as unmovable as a frozen pond.

True, she displayed normal, shallow feelings, such as a small smile, a smirk, the narrowing of eyes, a terse voice, a frown etc. However, unlike her fellow soldiers Hawkeye didn't seem to be half as emotionally affected by went on around her. Despite all the years she spent in the military, almost no one could honestly say they had ever seen her upset or frustrated, or even heard her laugh. Many had witnessed her throw out her old uniform and other belongings without so much as a longing glance.

So the sight of Riza kneeling at two graves, laying flowers there once a year, with intense emotions like bitterness, acknowledgement and nostalgia pass across her face, was something completely unprecedented to all but one member of the military.

_He stared openly at her, his first Lieutenant, his childhood friend an__d present companion "To be honest, I never thought I'd see you here." A statement of fact._

_She glanced discreetly over her shoulder at him, her Colonel, her most precious person, as she lay down a bouquet of flowers on each grave, before eyes slowly turned to gaze at the HAWKEYE engraved on them both__ "I could say the same." She replied calmly, not challenging, not defending, just giving a reply._

_He was silent for awhile, waiting for her to finish paying her respects before asking "Do you need a drive home?"_

_She raised an eyebrow, mildly amused "Why?" and for a moment he saw another Riza, with shorter hair and civilian clothes._

_"Can't I wish to be reacquainted with a childhood friend?"_

_"I'm also your Lieutenant."_

_He smirked at her, and she was sharply reminded of the cocky student she'd once known "We're not in uniform at the moment."_

_She hesitated._

_He glanced at her, a soft tone of voice coupling with hopeful eyes to melt her insecurities "Just a cup of tea for old times?"_

_"...Fine."_

_She looked so grudgingly relenting, it was endearing._

Riza Hawkeye was not a sentimental person. But Roy Mustang thought otherwise.


	5. Heiki weapon & Heiki fine

_Author's Note: Heya, Theme 5's up!!_

* * *

**You and I, we are strong.**

**We spat in death's face whenever it came for us.**

_"I burnt my wounds to stop bleeding!"_

_"There would be no advantage to your side if you kill me now."_

**We were used as human weapons but we didn't break.**

_"The man and woman responsible for slaughtering countless members of your race are right in front of you!"_

**We were strong-willed enough to get up and hold ourselves high, no matter how many times we were pushed down, down, down, to the very depths of hell.**

_"It's okay... It's okay..."_

_"Lower your gun, Lieutenant."_

**We were human enough to want to live after all the sins we have committed.**

_"Do Not Die!"_

**We are strong, Lieutenant, don't forget it.**

* * *

We are weak, you and I.

We called death to us, every single time.

_"We ended the lives of many people without their consent. There is no way we can go die at the time we want to."_

We were powerless; so much that we couldn't save one soldier.

_"Don't bury Papa!"_

We were faint-hearted enough to give in to our desires, almost abandon our cause so many times.

_"If you're going to shoot, shoot."_

_"That woman doesn't want to keep on living!"_

We were human enough to love. We still are.

_"Don't go where I can't follow!"_

_"I can't lose you."_

We are weak, Colonel, you know it as well as I do.

* * *

**Weak, or strong. We'll be fine.**

That's so like you, to say that, even now.

**We'll be together this time. So, we'll be fine.**

......Yes. We'll be fine.


	6. Death

Ah well, Bitter-Smoke's review made me feel slightly guilty, so despite what I said, here, Theme 6, with Theme 7 coming up. ^_^

* * *

So many people he knew had died.

His parents.

His teacher.

His best friend.

All gone. All dead.

Leaving him to stand in front of their graves, head bowed, fists clenched as he listened to the sounds of other mourners.

Why did everyone go before him?

He wasn't scared of death. He wasn't scared of himself dying, or other people dying. He knew death, knew it as well as he knew the array on her back, knew it as well as he knew the sound of his fingers snapping and fire and his victim's screams- knew it as well as the lone tear that had slipped down his cheek in a moment of vulnerability. He knew death.

Roy Mustang knew death well. He did not fear it.

No.

What he feared....

What he feared was waking up from this age of suffering, his goals accomplished; what he feared was finally reaching the top, and turning around to see her smile, amber eyes bright and happy, and their grins, proud and teasing, only...

Only to see nothing at all.


	7. Crime & Punishment

Theme 7 ^_^

* * *

Roy had always taken the blame for Riza when they were kids.

It had started out as an accident really; about a month after he'd first entered the Hawkeye estate, his teacher's quiet daughter –who he'd honestly begun to suspect was mute at the time- had dropped a plate as she prepared dinner...

_Roy had turned around to...do something, whether to reprimand or comfort Riza for dropping the plate, he didn't know, but then he caught sight of her eyes._

_Her amber eyes had widened in fear and tears were almost- almost, spilling over onto her cream coloured cheeks. She was aghast, lamented and highly frightened but he didn't know why._

_The 13 year old moved towards Riza, clearly intending comfort this time, reaching out a hand to her shoulder "Hey..."_

_Suddenly the kitchen door slammed open to reveal his sensei, rage clouding around him like poisonous gas "You broke it again, didn't you?" he asked Riza, his voice harsh and stern as usual, but overwhelmingly furious._

_Riza was clearly terrified; she bit her lip, almost drawing blood before whispering "I..."_

_"Answer me!"The image of his Sensei then was so terrifying, he couldn't help it. He didn't know why but..._

_Instinctively, Roy moved in front of Riza "No," he said clearly "No. It wasn't her fault. It was mine."_

Afterwards, when he had received proper punishment and transmuted the plate back to its original shape, Roy returned to his room to find Riza awkwardly waiting outside.

_"Why did you do that?" she asked, eyes filled with bemusement and appreciation and sorrow "I was the one who dropped Mama's plate, you didn't need to-,"_

_"I dunno why," Roy shrugged, but didn't make any move to go into his room; after all, this was the first time he was hearing Riza speak in full sentences and he rather...liked her voice. It was interesting. Soft but hard, yet also soothing "I didn't want to see a girl get hurt or anything like that."_

_"I see." She turned around, and for a moment Roy thought she'd just leave before he heard a quiet mumble "Mr Mustang...umm...thank you. For helping."_

_She quickly walked away before he could reply, but he was satisfied, and grinned widely when he recalled the light blush on her cheeks as she went._

And from then on, it was almost like tradition: a spilled liquid, a broken plate, a stained page; anything that could possibly incur his teacher's wrath on Riza was something he, Roy, took responsibility for. Of course, Riza not being clumsy, the times this occurred were few and far between, but every time she was about to get in trouble, Roy had appeared, saying those age old words.

_"It's not her fault."_

* * *

And now, years, years later, her father dead and she and Roy both in the military he despised, Riza would pay him back.

She stood up to defend the alchemist next to her, the cutting gazes of her audience stabbing into her.

She would pay him back, for all those times he helped her, all those precious memories, all his friendship, all his love.

She would pay him back or die along with him.

_"It's not his fault."_


	8. Storelined streets

Dedicated to Respect The Hobo's and hand-made-city! ^_^ Heeeeeeeere's Theme 8!

**Edited slightly** on 17/07/13.

* * *

On some days, when there was too much murder, too much crime, too much ungratefulness, too much work, too much evil, too much darkness _(and Ishbal screams inside him even louder than Amestris__)._

On some days, he has to force himself to keep standing (_all he wants to do is crawl into a hole and never, ever come out)_ and she faces it all head-on, guns at the ready and face expressionless (_despite__ the tremor in her legs that__ only he is ever allowed to see)_.

On some days, he wonders why she joined the military.

_Not the reason she told him at the start, no, because for her, there was always a truth under a truth._

* * *

On most days, when everything is calm, the paperwork is done, she's smiling back at him and they're almost...

On most days, there is always a momentwhen he can't differentiate between dream and reality and is_ just about_ to reach for her hand- but then he notices _(remembers)_ the blue uniform, the salutes, the politeness.

On most days, he wonders why she joined the military.

_Not the reason she told him at the start, because for her, there was always,** always** a truth under a truth._

* * *

And then, the days in between.

On the days too emotional, too intense and too plain _frightening_ to even think long about.

The days when he could've died and she prevented it.

The days when she took a bullet –_no, stop, don't think where_- for him.

The days when he almost died, and she almost died, and they almost died (_because if one was dead then surely the other wouldn't be alive?)_ and it was all too clear for him.

Because there _was_ a truth underneath her truth.

She wanted to protect the friends, the families, the colleagues, the lovers, the warm houses, the fresh gardens, the friendly roads, the store-lined streets, the bustling cities,_ this living, breathing, country we call home.  
_

But there was something else she wanted to protect too, something more important to her than all that.

More important to her than _all that._

What she wanted to protect, what her reason was, why she joined and chained herself to the rest of the dogs.

No, no- she chained herself to _one_ dog.

One **damn** dog.

On those days in-between, Roy hated himself more than usual.


	9. Unknown PastBefore we know eachother

Author's Note: Well, I'm not happy with this one to be honest, but I figured I might aswell give you guys _something_ to make up for being so late- so here you go. Next theme should be up in awhile. Sorry for being so late, guys, exams are a pain.

* * *

He couldn't say that he 'knew' Riza in their childhood days.

_"Rizaaaa," Roy groaned, slumping down onto his chair with a defeated air, his aura one of immense depression._

_She raised an eyebrow at his drama, carefully taking the kettle off the stove and laying it on the table._

Yes, they had spent time together.

_"Hai, Mustang-san?" she asked, setting out two cups with practice ease while he lamented._

_"I can't memorise the newest transmutation circle sensei set me." Roy moaned, hitting his head against the table "I'm a fool."_

Yes, he had known all her favourite things.

_Riza calmly pushed his black headed head away from the wood, handing him the sugar cube box before pouring her mother's secret-recipe-herbal-tea into their cups. He automatically handed out 6 sugar cubes -four for him, two for her- as usual, his posture still slumped and dejected._

Yes, they had been friends.

_"Maa, maa." She said, finally sitting down, sipping at her tea with an accustomed, cheerful air as he watched her, habitually, out of the corner of his eyes "I'm sure you'll get it eventually Mustang-san. Are you going to help me cook dinner today?" she already knew his answer, but it was so ingrained in her daily actions, she couldn't stop the words from coming out._

_"I don't have time for dinner!" Roy exclaimed "And I.." he glanced away for a moment "Don't want to see Sensei."_

Good friends.

_Her lips twitched "But you risked coming down from your sulking to have tea?"_

_Roy raised his head and stared at her, startled "W-well, of course, I'd come." He seemed flabbergasted at her even asking "It's- practically tradition, after all."_

_Riza smiled._

Childhood friends.

_Tradition or no; this time, she knew, was something only she and he shared. A time she could truly be comfortable in her tomb of a home._

But he cannot say that he 'knew' Riza back then.

To know someone they must not be a child, still developing; they must be complete, they must have grown; they must be a constantly evolving being that has obtained an unchanging core.

That is how you 'know' someone.

**You cannot know a child.**

So he did not 'know' Riza in their childhood days.

...

The fact, though he hated to admit it, bothered him.

**Greatly.**

It wouldn't do that no one knew anyone in their childhood- it wouldn't do that he knew her during Ishval, after Ishval, still knew her- it wouldn't do.

"Lieutenant,"

**When it came to her, he was a greedy man.**

"Were you different as a child?"

He ignored her questioning gaze, keeping his eyes locked on the other side of the train.

"...Hai, Taisa. Quite different."

**Because she was _his_.**

"How so?" he asked, keeping his voice light, as if he just wanted to pass the time, while quietly watching her from the corner of his eyes.

The corner of her mouth twitched, as if amused, before replying.

**It wouldn't do if he didn't have all of her.**"When I was 4 years old, my mother died. After that.."

**ALL of her.**


	10. Promise

Author's Note: Sorry this one's so late; bear with me, I've got a chemistry exam on Tuesday that's driving me up the wall. Longer one will be up soon, I hope.

* * *

_"I'm thinking of recommending you as my aide."_

**They didn't give each other promises.**

_"I want you to protect my back."_

**Promises were what people generally used; flimsy oaths given and taken, kept and broken, without a second thought.**

_"Do you understand?"_

**Promises were unreliable, widespread. **

_"To entrust my back to you means that you can shoot me from behind anytime."_

**Promises were simple, stupid, low-rate.**

_"If I step off the path, shoot and kill me with those hands."_

**They didn't give each other promises.**

_"You are qualified to do that."_

**They gave each other words.**

_"Will you follow me?"_

**And along with that, trust.**

_"Understood."_

**They didn't give each other promises.**

_"If that is your wish, then even into hell."_

**They didn't need them.**


	11. Liar

Author's Note: Ack, sorry guys, I'm so late *sweatdrops* blame exams, not me. Not very satisfied with this one, but hopefully the next one will be better.

* * *

Riza remembers a time when she was loved.

She was so small then, but she remembers feeling softness, warmth; snuggled in her mother's arms, her blonde hair being stroked by gentle hands.

_"Mama will always be here for you, Riza."_

But she wasn't. She wasn't.

**_Liar._**

* * *

Riza remembers a time when she was protected.

Strong arms carry her, her parents' laughter mixing in the air. Strong arms throw her up, her father's blonde hair shining in the sunlight as he caught her. The young toddler let out a squeak whenever she went up and he grinned at her when he caught her.

_"There, there Riza, Papa would never hurt you."_

The pain in her back chooses this moment to flare up.

**_LIAR!_**

* * *

Riza remembers a time when she was naive.

She stares at him, so grown from the child he was when they first met- the blue uniform looks so awkward on him, she thinks, holding back both a smirk and tears as she sees him off with a smile.

_"I'll do great things Riza!"_

He had wanted to, he really had wanted to, she knew that.

**_......liar..._**

* * *

Riza remembers a time, awhile ago, when she was injured.

Her own ruby blood flowing sickeningly down her side and Roy running over to her, yelling her name, panic making his face look just like the worried little boy she used to know.

_"Will you follow me?"_

_"If that is your wish, then even into hell."_

Before passing out from the blood loss she thought, unwilling to see grief on Roy's face.

**_I-_**

* * *

Now, slowly opening her eyes, as she inwardly groaned at the pain, and Roy let out a long, laboured, relieved sigh, Riza wanted to smile at his gesture, but ended up bursting into relieved tears.

"Really, Lieutenant." Roy handed her a tissue, his voice hoarse, mild panic in his eyes but too tired to do anything else "Don't worry me like that."

**_She wasn't a liar._**


	12. Proof

Author's Note: *gets pummeled with bricks, pillows, lap tops, pens etc.* I'm sorry! I'm so so so so so sorry! But it really wasn't my fault this time! My computer got a virus and I lost my drafts and then I had to go to the hospital and had more exams and- I'M SO SORRY!!!! My comp should be free of virus's now, I'm healthy, exams are over, I'm in hols and will keep writing until I get everyone's forgiveness.

Hope this one isn't too rusty.

EDIT: Oh My...God. O_O I just checked for the first time but...33 reviews? _**THIRTY THREE**_ reviews?? For 11 little Themes? ;_; I-I don't deserve you guys!! *glomps all reviewers*

* * *

Colonel Roy Mustang sighed in relief as the last of his subordinates exited the office to head to the cafeteria and grab lunch.

Not that he had any grudge against any of his loyal followers or anything but....

He half smirked, kneeling down to open the bottom left drawer in his desk, un-gloved hand already pushing back small piles of rusted paperclips, old, charred documents and broken paperweights in his search.

"Damn," he muttered, eyes scanning past yet another discarded something or other "Where is it? I know I threw it in here when she came in...where...?"

Slightly annoyed that he hadn't immediately found the evidence he'd hidden, Roy started to push aside the items he didn't need with more speed, mentally reminding himself that he only had until lunch break was finished to find and incinerate the damn incriminating piece of pa-

The alchemist's thought process was cut off when his eyes reached the bottom of the drawer.

...

The bottom of the drawer.

...

He hadn't found it yet.

...

The _bottom_ of the _drawer._

....

The blood drained from Roy's face.

Speechless with terror, he turned around, pride discarded as he crawled on the floor, frantically picking up discarded paper after paper, wide eyes urgently scanning them for any trace of the paper he'd carelessly scribbled two words on that morning, sweating in panic.

"&#%$£$%££#!!!!!!!!!!!!!!"

"....Colonel??"

Roy froze mid-swear.

Slowly, ever so slowly, he looked up from his undignified position on the floor.

Confused amber eyes met his petrified onyx ones.

-_The world was against him today_-

"L-Lieutenant," Roy finally choked out, too shocked to get up "W-what are you doing here?"

Riza blinked at him, eyes taking in the papers strewn all over the floor and her Colonel's flustered state and position.

"...Just checking up on you, sir." She answered, lifting a suspicious eyebrow at his predicament.

Her Colonel gulped "Ah," he laughed nervously, still on the floor "Ah, w-well, as you can see, I'm fine Lieutenant. Perfectly fine. Just...just doing some spring cleaning. You can head back to the cafeteria, don't let me keep you."

A moment passed.

"...No, that's alright sir." Riza answered, calmly moving towards her superior "I already ate. Shall I give you some help?"

"N-no thankyou!!" If this were any time or place, Roy would've been absolutely mortified at the high, panicked voice he used as he tried to ward Riza off from the highly dangerous (still may or may not be containing that damn piece of paper) area- but desperate times called for desperate measures, even if he sounded like he was suddenly many years younger and just newly apprenticed at the Hawkeye estate again.

"No, really," Riza moved forwards again "It's the least I could do, especially since it seems Black Hayate has been chewing on some of the old documents in that drawer."

Roy sweated, putting his hand in front of him, shaking it and his head at the same time as a final desperate attempt to stop her "No, really I-!" –_wait_- "..Black Hayate?"

Riza nodded, her suspicions confirmed, hiding an exasperated smile as she faked bemusement "I believe I recently saw him chewing on some half burned remnant of a document, just awhile ago in the-,"

Roy was out of the room before she could even finish.

* * *

Black Hayate innocently trotted through another empty hall, wondering where his 'Mommy' had gone. The paper in his mouth didn't taste as good as before and the man-with-glasses was nowhere in sight, he was so bor-

"GOT YOU!!!!!!"

Letting out a startled yelp, Hayate stared at a certain Colonel, confused at his sudden grabbing of the piece of paper in his mouth- well, that was alright since it didn't taste good anyway, but some common courtesy would be appreciated!

Ignoring the indignant whining of the dog, Roy urgently scanned the piece of paper held in his hands. It was pretty charred from his previous burn attempt (aborted when his 1st Lieutenant came into the room and he threw it into that drawer and started the whole mess) but still, there in the middle of the greyish-white Object Of Doom his handwriting proudly displayed two words:

_Riza Mustang_

Feeling suddenly hot around the collar Roy cleared his throat, glaring at the bemused dog still sitting in front of him, who'd given up on whining and had instead stared at the man with his head tilted to the side, questioning.

"It was only an experiment alright?" the Flame Alchemist spoke gruffly, eyes unwillingly going back to stare at the two words, -_Riza Mustang_- fingers suddenly itching to write them again and again and again and- "I just wanted to see how it would look. Don't get any ideas."

Black Hayate just blinked at him.

Roy went back to staring at the paper in his hands, getting ready to bring out a glove and incinerate it...

_Riza Mustang_

...Damn. Why'd it have to look so _good_?

_Riza Mustang_

...

Roy sighed and leaned against the wall, slowly sliding down until he was on the floor with Hayate.

Really. He was doomed.

_Riza Mustang_

The dog stared at the alchemist, still confused.

Roy glanced at him, resigned to his fate "You won't tell anyone, will you?" he asked, half exhausted, half amused, already thinking of places to hide the piece of paper where his aide wouldn't find it.

The dog barked.

Roy took that as a no.


	13. Betrayal

Author's Note: *glomps l reviewers again* Seriously, I love you guys!!! Sorry this one's abit short, next one will be longer ^_^

* * *

When she thought about, later, 

_(When the adrenaline had left her veins and they were on their way to yet another battle- but there were no threats of another important person being lost, be it her, or him, or anyone else)._

It had been such a perfect picture of betrayal.

_(A follower with her gun held at the back of her leader's head.)_

Really, so perfect it was laughable, she thought, amber eyes glazing over.

But it wasn't she who had nearly done the betraying.

_(No.)_

_(It was him.)_

He was the one who had nearly betrayed her.

_(Betrayed Hughes.)_

_(Betrayed Jean.)_

_(Betrayed Ross.)_

_(Betrayed Falman and Fuery and Breda and Armstrong and-)_

Nearly betrayed them all.

Because he'd nearly turned his back on them and his dream and all they'd been working for.

_(He'd nearly made it all meaningless.)_

Nearly.

He hadn't in the end.

_(He could have, but he hadn't.)_

Riza sighed, grateful.

_(He hadn't left her alone.)_

It hadn't been a perfect picture after all.

_(Thank goodness.)_


	14. Covered Eyes

Author's Note: *hides behind a steel shield* Before you all pummel me to an irrecognisable pulp I have this to say in my defence- IT WAS NOT MY FAULT THIS TIME!!!!!!!!! We took a sudden one month trip to Turkey and the comps there didn't let me upload the newest themes!!! I'M INNOCENT I TELL YOU!!!!!

;_;

_**INNOCENT!!**_

* * *

I lead.

She follows.

I order.

She obeys (…usually).

That's how we work, you see.

That's how it's always been.

But there's more to it than that (really, if that was all we had to our relationship, I'd have such a peaceful state of mind).

You see, when I, or my plans, are threatened, she immediately protects me, or deals with the situation- usually (to my immense frustration) putting herself at risk in the process; but this is something I can easily deal with, since I usually have the chance to protect her as well during her many reckless actions.

But what I can't deal with is when **she**, (my most trusted and dearest subordinate,) is threatened.

_And does not tell me._

_

* * *

  
_

… I still lead.

And she still follows.

_(While dodging serial killers and hostage situations and homunculi and God knows what else I don't know of.)_

But then she leans up, on her tiptoes, feet barely touching the ground _(and making all the dodging just that more difficult)_.

And she covers my eyes.

And tells me she's fine.

And though I know something's wrong, I don't know _what_ and I can't protect her or comfort her or…anything.

I can't do anything.

I can't do _anything_ to help her.

Anything.

* * *

And so I lead.

And she follows.

And sometimes, she covers my eyes.

And I…can only trust in her.

And wait.


	15. The Scent Of Blood

Author's Note: We-ell, in celebration of ep 18 and ep 19's preview (thanks a ton hand-made-city for pointing it out to me! *glomps*) I decided to post the next theme early- I apologise for the shortness, but the next one (which I finally finished WHOOT!) is longer, so it'll be made up to ya'll later on ;)

* * *

He scans the cafeteria for her, appearing nonchalant although his hold on the tray is tight and his onyx eyes are anxious.

_She is in the hands of a monster, and her hero cannot even raise a finger against him, let alone a sword._

When he catches sight of her, his heart skips a beat.

_And he thinks he died that moment from the sheer agony._

The dried blood on her cheek is painfully, mockingly visible.

_It reminds him of her fragile, fragile humanity._

A clean cut, horizontal; almost impossible to do yourself, or accidentally...It looked deep.

_Someone had hurt her._

**

* * *

**

A moment later, he asks if he can join her, holding himself back when all he wants to do is grab her by the shoulders demand who hurt her, who she couldn't defend herself against, who targeted her-

(_She will not let him help her- and he couldn't even if she did, and he knows it, knows it too well, so well that he feel all the more weaker and weaker and **useless**.)_

But instead he sits down, and as they light-heartedly begin to chat he stares at the mark- stares and stares and stares.

(_It proves how worthless he is, that mark; with one monster's mere words she has been taken out of his sight and protection **-but did he ever protect her in the first place?-** and she has been hurt and it is all. His. Fault.) _

He wonders if, underneath the smell of cafeteria food and gunpowder, if that sickening smell, the mark of death, the scent of blood-

Is it on her?

* * *

_And his heart **aches**._

_

* * *

_


	16. Reaching Voice&Unreachable With A Voice

Author's Note: Aaaaaargh! -_- Am I the only one ff . net REFUSED to let login this Saturday? MOU! Just when I was gonna post the next theme too!! :S Anyways, *grins* Look out for ep 19 people!!!! :) This one really got away from how I first picture it to be...but I hope you all like it!! ^^

* * *

Though she has her back turned to him, Riza knows perfectly well that blood is draining from Mr Mustang's face, leaving his complexion paler than usual as he stares at her back.

She can almost see his features morph into a twisted look of shock and realization (because he'd always been smart for his age –_too smart_-, smart enough to know exactly what had been done and who by and all the complicated implications that came along).

She is not surprised, when finally turning around, that he looks exactly as she knew he would; nor is she taken aback by the stricken look in his eyes, (though she inwardly winces at) the way his voice chokes and stutters and stumbles when he tries to speak.

"..I-I...Ri-Ri-Riza y-you...he..._he_...."

(She'd always known him far too well.)

She speaks neutrally, not letting out any emotion that would further fuel his current sentimental state; she had to make sure her voice and the facts reached his currently numb mind before he jumped to conclusions.

"Father thought this would be the best way to keep his secrets safe.....and......I agreed."

She (doesn't want to, but) expects his strangled intake of air, the aggrieved way he shoves his face into his hands, (as if trying to make the sight of her back and the realization- of exactly what his teacher had done to his childhood friend- disappear).

She wishes she didn't have to watch him suffer like this (he'd always felt too responsible towards her, blaming himself if she even had the tiniest cut).

"Mr Mustang...?"

Her voice comes out just the slightest bit weaker, more hesitant (and she hates it and wishes she could sound calm and confident, but no matter how well she knows him it still kills her to see him like this because of her)

He finally lifts up his head and stares at her, features dead and onyx eyes anguished.

"How long?" he asked- or was it demanded? His tone was so bleak she couldn't be sure.

She is silent.

His dead mask breaks (into rage and sadness and so many other things).

"How _long_?!"

She flinches at his angry tone (and he flinches as well, jerks back as if he'd been burned- though she cannot see as her head is now lowered).

And her act of calm and composure is slowly but surely breaking down, (because he is the only one in the world who matters to her and _if he is angry at her_-) and she can feel a deep, dark crevasse in her hard and unfeeling armour; a crevasse filed with memories and regrets and tears and funerals and (_stop, stop it daddy, my back hurts, daddy, daddy it hurts, **IT HURTS**_) that small, _small,_ weak voice that only spoke up in her head and could never, ever reach the man so immersed in a world she never understood.

"Sorry," Mr Mustang whispers and Riza realises he's been saying it for some time now as her back is now covered with his jacket and his arms are around her shoulders, the warm air from his choked murmurs gently hitting her slightly wet cheek.

"Sorry," he says again, softly, hoarsely, ever so worried and apologetic "Sorry,"

She turns and buries her head into his neck, desperate, scared, seeking comfort in his familiar smell of ash and coffee and dust (and only then does she know for sure she's crying)

"Sorry," he holds her gently –_because she's precious, so precious, no one could ever understand how much_- "Sorry."

And a part of her mind dimly wonders; who is he apologising for?


	17. Scars

Author's Note: *huggles and glomps all reviewers* I love you all so much! Keep those reviews coming, please (no PM's unless necessary!!)- seeing that blue number at the top of my story really motivates me to keep going! :) I even made this one slightly fluffy!

* * *

"Ow!" Roy winced for the fifth time in several minutes, looking up from his position on the floor to give his aide a wounded look "That hurts, Lieutenant."

"No one told you to jump in front of me, Colonel." Riza unsympathetically murmured as she continued to wipe the antiseptic soaked cotton ball against her commanding officer's wounded forearm, ignoring his exaggerated flinches and gasps of pain.

Realising his plan to gather sympathy wasn't working, Roy cautiously glanced up at her, "...Are you mad?"

Riza paused, "No." before pressing the wool just a tad _too_ firmly to her commanding officer's damaged skin.

"OWOWOW!!!!!!!" Roy yelped, jumping back, protectively covering his forearm with his other hand, onyx eyes glaring "Lieutenant! _Torture_ should be saved for enemy troops!"

Riza sighed, feeling her slight remorse at causing him pain slowly getting overshadowed by annoyance towards his dramatic actions "Colonel, please," she crawled towards him, the menacing cotton ball in her hand "Don't be childish."

"_You're_ the one practically stabbing me with that thing!" he huffed, almost crossing his arms but stopping with a wince of pain, "Ow..."

Riza's eyes softened and she crawled next to her Colonel, sighing at the weary look he gave her.

"I'll be gentler." She told him, gently taking his arm "But stop fidgeting or it will hurt no matter what I do."

Roy blinked in surprise at her sudden change in demeanour; staring as, true to her word as always, his Lieutenant made a great effort to cause him as less pain as possible.

For a few, precious moments, there was silence.

"...Sorry," he murmured eventually, somehow feeling guilty even though he knew he'd done nothing wrong, fundamentally speaking "I didn't mean to scare you."

Riza paused and glanced up at him, amber eyes still soft and slightly...

Roy suddenly felt inexplicably hot around the collar "I..." he swallowed "...Just didn't want you hurt."

He looked guiltily down at his hands, and part of his mind wondered just how it was that she always, always made him bow to her will like this.

A light slap landed on his uninjured arm, and Roy looked up, startled.

"Idiot." Riza's amber eyes seemed to be slightly bright, as she glared at him "I am the one who is supposed to keep you safe. Do you think I like it when you get scars because of me?"

"...Sorry."

The Flame Alchemist's childhood friend sighed for the third time that night, the cotton and antiseptic forgotten as she leaned her head against the wall, eyes closed as its coolness seeped into her head "You're so tiring."

At a loss, Roy glanced at her from the corner of his eyes, all the more aware that they were closer.

"You're tiring too you know," he muttered, defending himself now that it seemed he was forgiven "If you had just stayed back like I said, just listened to my orders for once, then I wouldn't have-,"

He stopped mid-sentence, onyx eyes wide.

Exhausted from both their mission and her Colonel's actions, 1st Lieutenant Riza Hawkeye had fallen asleep, gravity softly nudging her head to rest on Roy's shoulder.

"...Well," he mumbled, cautiously glancing around for witnesses before relaxing and letting his head lean against hers, smiling at the familiar scent of gunpowder and Riza as he closed his eyes "It's not my fault this time."


	18. I Don't Want To Realise

Author's Note: Dedicated to hand-made-city for finally passing her driver's test!!!!!! +claps+ Whooo!!! :)

P.S: Respect The Hobos where have you gone? ;_; I miss youuuuuuu!

P.P.S: **This is a continuation from the last theme.**

* * *

It was so warm...he could feel something soft against his cheeks...so comfortable...

"Colonel? Colonel Mustang! Where are you?"

He didn't want to get up...just let him say like this...let him just be with her...just like this...

"Lieutenant! 1st Lieutenant Hawkeye!"

Stupid voices...don't ruin it...

"Colonel!"

Despite his inner protests Roy could hear his subordinates shouting all too well, and felt his eyelashes twitch in reaction.

"Maybe they went home?"

Yes, yes, believe he went home and go you annoying people, go, go, go!

"But we need to be at work soon!"

The warm lump next to him stiffened and Roy almost groaned.

Damnit.

A few seconds of blissful peace passed, and Roy quickly tried to memorise everything; the soft, golden hair against his cheeks, the comforting warmth near his side, the beautiful feeling of a soft but callused hand splayed across his own...

All too soon, it was all gone, and 1st Lieutenant Riza Hawkeye moved away from his side.

Resigned to his fate, Roy opened his bleary eyes, almost smirking when the sight of his childhood professionally straightening her uniform came into view, already composed after only several seconds of consciousness.

She glanced down at him, not looking at all surprised to see him already awake "Thank you for deciding to wake up, Colonel."

Roy sighed as he got up; it figured that his Lieutenant would easily see through his attempts to keep sleeping.

Riza glanced at him, frowned at his rumpled uniform, and quickly walked over, straightening it with swift, precise, (but caring) movements.

"You're so mean." he quietly complained when she was done, glancing at her with a hidden, teasing smile "You could have played along."

Riza raised an eyebrow at her Colonel, the corners of her lips lifting upwards so slightly that no one other than Roy could have noticed it "We have work to do, sir."

He smiled wryly back at her, hands in his pockets as they started to walk out "Don't we always?"


	19. Things One Cannot Understand

Author's Note: *grins* This one, is for two certain reviewers, who I've always deeply appreciated for always telling me what they thought on almost every chapter! romance-addict44 and YourLifeInWords - this one's for both of you!! :D

* * *

Havoc likes to think he understands his Colonel and fellow Lieutenant.

For example, when temporary helpers in the office are surprised at the Colonel constantly taking Hawkeye almost everywhere with him, it's Havoc who leans back on his chair with a smoke and a smirk, saying that's just how they are.

Or, when Hawkeye is in a bad mood, it's Havoc who turns to ask the equally irate Mustang what he did to piss her off- and starts back with his eyes wide and both hands defensively raised in front of him as both the click of a gun's safety trigger and the snap of a swiftly worn glove are threateningly sent his way.

Not to mention how, whenever a new officer flirts with Hawkeye, it's only Havoc who _always _notices how Mustang's (luckily) bare fingers keep violently snapping behind his back until the 1st Lieutenant coldly rejects the poor sap.

Havoc likes to believe he knows his Colonel and fellow Lieutenant very well, as well as their relationship.

But then there are days, when, suddenly, he isn't so sure of himself anymore.

Days when the supposedly cool-headed Colonel is only seconds away from furiously flaming a cowering criminal who unluckily landed a blow on his 1st Lieutenant (Mustang's fingers still twitched, a few days later, when noticing the bruise on her forearm was still visible).

Days when always-composed Hawkeye comes into work just a few minutes late -startling all officers with her slightly hoarse voice and the dark grey bags under her bloodshot eyes- and the Colonel silently, efficiently finishes all the paperwork on his desk without even the smallest complaint.

Days when Havoc hears murmurs of "Do you remember?" and "Father always..." when walking into the office- and the two abruptly stop talking as he comes in, awkwardly _(guiltily)_ glancing away from each other, their half empty cups of coffee making him feel like a hindrance to...something.

Days when he isn't sure if Mustang's hand did or didn't linger on Hawkeye's for just a second too long as he took paperwork from her- or if the rare, fond smile he thought he saw on Hawkeye's face as she glanced at the Colonel was just the effects of his overactive imagination.

On those days, Havoc feels like he doesn't understand them at all.

* * *

OMAKE:

One day, Havoc confronts his Colonel about it.

"Oi, what the hell's between you and Hawkeye?"

Roy Mustang glanced at his 2nd Lieutenant, startled for all of 1 second before a smirk slips onto his face, onyx eyes glinting.

"Asking things like that, my poor, foolish subordinate, is exactly why you can't get a steady girlfriend."


	20. Murderer

Author's Note: Phew! You wouldn't _believe_ how much trouble this theme _gave _me!!! Can you believe there are three different stories for this one?! I wrote one at first, put it turned into two different versions of the same scenario, and I just kept being picky between the two, wondering which one was best and then, frustrated, wrote out this short drabble. Geez, I'm exhausted!

* * *

His hands are stained; stained with dark ash, crimson blood and merciless, killing flames.

Stained in such a way that, no matter how many good deeds he may do, how many lives he may save, how much he may repent- they will never fade. Those stains will always, always remain, till the day his own coffin is lowered into the cold, unforgiving ground.

Roy Mustang is very aware of the fact.

He's marked by the scarlet shroud of death, separating him from the rest of humanity, grouping him with all others who dared to take a life that they had no right in stealing.

He is dirty. Filthy.

A monster, a killer, a dog of the military, just as they all said.

It's no lie.

But...

But, he is still him.

He, Roy Mustang, is still Chris's foster son.

He, the Flame Alchemist, is still the late Maes Hughes's best friend.

He, Colonel Mustang, is still Riza Hawkeye's childhood friend.

He is still him.

Even if his hands are stained, he can still go visit 'Madame Christmas', buy Elicia birthday presents, tease his 1st Lieutenant, not do his paperwork, wait to be scolded, have banter with his subordinates, eat, sleep, drink, work, live- ...love.

He is stained.

But, they all (Chris, Gracia, Elicia, Havoc, Falman, Breda, Fuery, _Riza_) are willing to accept him, despite it.

He is stained.

_But he is still him._


	21. RepentanceConfession

Author's Note: You know, I love my reviewers. It really is true that the only thing that can make an author (who really should NOT be on the comp right now) keep writing is reviews and a guilty conscience.

Sorry for the lateness guys! Tell me if my writing's out of shape- I experimented again :P :D

* * *

A callused, pearl-white hand harshly slammed an overly crumpled document onto Colonel Mustang's desk; and though the loud sound was enough to make everyone jump in their seats, the person said hand belonged to efficiently inspired all other soldiers to scramble for the door to avoid Lieutenant Hawkeye's rage and the aforementioned Colonel to fear for his life.

"**Colonel**." The Flame Alchemist's 1st Lieutenant spoke through gritted teeth, her furious amber eyes and glowering expression making the poor, unfortunate man gulp.

Roy nervously cleared his throat, valiantly trying not to squeak "Y-yes, Lieutenant?"

His eyes quickly glanced at her hands, and he felt slight relief to see she was unarmed-

"_What_. **Is**. _This_?"

-only to quiver before the angry blonde sniper in front of him as a murderous tone slipped into her voice.

Glowing, flaming amber eyes directed his attention to the document she had slammed onto his desk, which, he noticed with further inspection, looked to be something like medical bills...

Oh.

Roy's eyes widened.

Oh** no.**

Noticing his reaction, Riza's own eyes narrowed dangerously as she tersely demanded a response "_Well_?"

He wondered if it was too late to call Chris and ask her to forgive him for dying early.

"Ah, w-well," Roy's tongue felt dry as he stammered, wishing he could somehow escape by sinking through his seat "Now, Lieutenant, d-don't take some mild generosity the wrong way..."

Riza's face moved sharply towards his, just as he'd dreaded, like a hunter moving in on its prey, as she hissed angrily "_Mild_ **generosity**?"

Only mere inches separated her face from his.

Roy's heart almost stopped.

Thankfully, before the military lost a valuable alchemist, his Lieutenant leaned away from him just as quickly, angrily gesturing at the numbers printed on the accursed medical bills.

"Colonel, paying all my medical bills for 4 years- and continuing to even though I told you not to- _isn't _'mild generosity'." Riza stated, annoyed and exasperated at her childhood friend's stubbornness "I thought we already went through this, but, clearly, you have a problem with understanding the word 'no'!"

Roy groaned, head cradled into his hands. If she continued to lecture him and her face came that close to his again (_his mind briefly tortured him with images of her angrily pursed lips, inches away from his own, practically begging him to grab her by the shoulders an-_) he was sure he was going to have a heart attack.

"Lieutenant," he sighed, looking up "Is helping you out with your financial status _so_ bad?"

"Yes." Her reply was as unhesitant as always as she glared at him "I can take care of myself, Colonel. There is no need for you to play favourites."

The corner of his lips twitched into an almost smirk "So, you're aware of your position?"

"Colonel." Riza's flat tone indicated that she wasn't amused.

Roy sighed, looking down at the bills that had his Lieutenant so frustrated. His eyes darkened at the large number of treatments Riza had had to take while under his command. Treatments for broken bones, dislocated joints, blood loss, bullet wounds...

"I'm paying them." He stated, his tone leaving no room for argument as he firmly closed the matter, reaching for some paperwork "Most of them are my fault anyway." He muttered under his breath as he reached for a pen.

Riza blinked.

Roy stiffly began signing.

Riza understood.

"Colonel," disapproval rang clearly in her voice, "It doesn't suit you to be foolish."

The Flame Alchemist paused in his signing.

"I joined the military to protect," she sternly told him, "Not to be protected."

...

Roy's posture changed slightly at her unspoken reminder of their promise.

"Fine." He mumbled, not meeting her eyes "Okay. Protect all you want."

Riza smiled slightly, "Thank you, sir." She turned around "I'll go get the others."

When she was out of the office, Roy sighed to himself, knowing the matter wasn't really over by a long shot

"Stubborn woman."

His eyes wondered over to the bills his Lieutenant had forgotten about, a smirk playing on his lips.

"But I'm still going to pay them."


	22. God

Author's Note: Sorry this one took so long to come out, guys! The theme was hard to write for and since school's started I've been having trouble organising my free time. So, sorry if this one isn't as good as the others, but be honest with me, as always, okay?

* * *

Roy Mustang doesn't believe in miracles.

It's an established fact in the military that the Flame Alchemist has no ties whatsoever to such a naive, wistful belief. He has seen too much, sinned too much, _felt_ too much (_the grave is pale, pale white, making him feel nauseous as he remembers scarlet red blood on the pavement, unseeing green eyes_-), to ever believe in such things.

"Excuse me, Colonel."

Perhaps, once upon a time, when he was just a child sitting innocently on his foster mother's lap and listening to stories of brave men, ingenious plots and happily ever afters....perhaps then, he might have.....possibly...

But that was then.

"Lieutenant!"

And this was now.

"I came to get something I forgot."

And right now, as he watches her move to grab some folder, to remove the last traces of herself from the room...right now, Roy Mustang doesn't believe in miracles.

"...Really."

How could he?

"It seems Scar is still prowling around. Edward-kun told me."

How could he ever believe in miracles, believe in hope, believe in all those sweet, forbidden, (_deceitful_) things?

"Scar, huh? I'll have to be careful when I walk outside."

Roy Mustang knew better than that.

"After all, my well-armed guard will be gone."

He knew better than to hope everything would turn out alright, to hope that she (_1st Lieutenant, Hawkeye, Riza)_ would be okay, would come back to him, safe and sound...he knew better.

"That's right."

He knew better.

"Please don't die."

...Didn't he?

"Yeah."

Hadn't he seen so many shattered dreams (_blood red sky, the smell of charred bodies_), so many ruined futures _("Papa?"),_ so many, many wrongs and _("Please, burn and crush my back.")_ disappointments?

"I've put you through trouble."

**Didn't he know _damn better?!_**

"Heh...I might have made a mistake on who to follow."

They were taking her away, taking her and everyone and _everything_ away from him- what could he possible expect?! What could he possible hope for?!

"If you think you made a mistake, shoot and kill me. It's the promise we made on that day."

How could he _ever _believe in mira-

"You're still at my tolerance level."

...

"..Hahaha, you're kind, 1st Lieutenant."

He was a fool. A green, naive fool, just as Hughes had said.

He didn't know when to give up.

He didn't know better.

"Well, Colonel...we'll meet again."

Because as he watches her salute, about to leave this office (_not their office...not anymore- he was alone now..), _too painfully aware that this was probably the last time he'd see her in a long, long time...a small, small part of Roy -a crushed, beaten and mutilated part of his scarred heart- a part that was far too oblivious, far too naive, _far too hopeful..._

"Mmm."

Wishes he could believe in miracles.

"We'll meet again."


	23. Someone I Want To Protect

Author's Note: You know, I think pretty much everyone thinks of General Grumman as Riza's maternal grandparent. But then, I noticed a certain likeness in two certain someones _chins. _And thus, this was born. There's less RoyAi this chap, but I hope it's satisfying all the same ;_; Forgive me for awkwardness of any kind. School has no mercy. At all.

Anyway, YOU MUST ALL THANK hand-made-city AND HER UTTER AWESOMENESS. Without her checking over this, there's a large change I wouldn't updated ntil half-term!! So, yes, THANKYOU FOR YOUR AWESOMENESS VIKKI-CHAN!!!!

* * *

_The room was cold._

That was the first thing Riza noticed when she walked into General Grumman's office, her distinctive amber eyes automatically taking in every possibly useful detail, still weary of shadowy corners since Ishval.

_The room was pretty dark too._

She repressed a shiver as she strode to the front of her superior's desk, briskly saluting, face blank and calm.

"You wanted to see me, sir?"

_It reminded her of her Father's office._

General Grumman briefly glanced up from the papers he was signing, the dim light reflecting off his glasses and hiding the expression in his eyes.

He didn't say anything.

Silence fell for several minutes; and for every one of those minutes, the blonde sniper felt younger and younger, until she was yet again a little girl, called to her Father's study to be reprimanded, lower lip wobbling-

Finally, Grumman sighed and slowly removed his glasses. He glanced down at them, as if trying to prolong the silence, bringing a piece of cloth out of his pockets to absentmindedly clean the lenses.

The hand Riza had still kept in a salute began to tremble, and her Paternal Grandfather finally looked up, revealing his amber eyes, so painfully similar to her own (_to her Father's_), as he stared at her.

The corner of his right lip twitched.

"The face you make when you're trying to be brave is just like your Father's."

Had he been hoping for a reaction, Grumman lost the sight when he blinked; that split second when his eyes were closed was long enough for a small flinch to grace her frame and then quietly disappear.

She was Riza Hawkeye, after all. She was stronger than that.

"I see."

Grumman frowned.

"You can be at ease, Riza. We're family."

Her posture tensed even further when she lowered her hand, arms at her sides. "I did not think it appropriate, General."

"Hmm." The General's eyes softened with nostalgia, "You take to your Mother in that aspect." He pretended not to notice his granddaughters sudden attentiveness at the word, "She was a nice, polite little thing, always calming down your ever-brooding Fath-."

The rest of the word was drowned out by the sound of lightning and, outside the window, it began to rain.

"...She never spoke of you." The sound of rain drops made it impossible to distinguish whether there was or wasn't hurt, and perhaps, perhaps, the faintest trace of anger, in Riza's voice, "No one...ever, spoke of you. Nor did you come to visit, until..."

The rain began to fall harder and then both knew what she was going to say.

_...until both of my parents were dead and buried._

"...I know."

"If I may ask...what did you call me for, General?"

Grumman leaned back in his chair, hands clasped together, "Well, you see... I got some forms," he eyed her abruptly still face with weary amber orbs, "Requesting for you to transfer into Lieutenant Colonel Mustang's team."

"..." She could hear the rain drops as they heavily bombarded the ceiling, they're usual melody change by their intensity.

**Patterpatterpatterpatterpa-**

"Was that...a mistake?"

**Patterpatterpatt-**

Riza Hawkeye met her grandfather's gaze calmly, determined not to back down even an inch on this matter.

"No." She spoke shortly, to the point. "It wasn't."

The old man's forehead creased. "...Even after Ishval, you still insist on being so ridiculously naive." He kept his tone steady even though he wanted to fall to his knees begging. "...Why?"

The sniper didn't flinch, or let her gaze waver. "There is someone I want to protect."

"By putting your life at risk?"

"Yes."

**Patterpatterpatterpatterpatterpatterpatterpatter-**

Grumman told the biggest, absurdest and most untrue lie to ever pass his old mouth, "If you're killed in action, I won't pay for the funeral."

There was silence as Riza understood what he was saying, "...I don't expect to, sir."

The General reached for his glasses, exhaling quietly, "You're so stubborn I can't sway you at all, aren't you?"

"I believe it runs in the family."

He tried at one last shot. "You are aware that your Father hated the military?"

"No."

Grumman blinked at the blonde, his glasses raised halfway to his face, "No? Riza, my son _despised-,_"

Riza Hawkeye looked down at her boots, not wanting to see the look on her grandfather's face, "I don't believe Father really hated the military."

For the first time in his life, the General went absolutely _still._

"If he had...he wouldn't have tol- taught the Lieutenant Colonel, when he knew where he planned to use his skills...I......believe, he hated something else. Something that made him feel powerless..." her voice hushed until it was almost a whisper "Like a child."

**Patterpatterpatterpatter-**

_Grumman closed his eyes._

_("You just leave me and Mom alone whenever you feel like it!!! You don't care!! You don't care about us at all!!! Well, damn you, Dad!!! Damn you and your stupid military!!!!!!!!")_

**Patterpatterpatterpatterpa-**

His Granddaughter continued "He hated something...that made him turn to alchemy for...comfort from abandonment...like many other alchemists had done."

Riza kept her face down.

**Patterpatterpatterpatter**

When Grumman put on his glasses, Riza didn't see.

**Patterpatterpatterpatter**

And, if something wet happened to trail down the General's cheeks before being quickly wiped away, Riza didn't see.

She kept looking down at the floor.

"...I see," Grumman's tone was quiet, barely heard above the rain, "Well, some things can't be helped, can they?" As if answering himself, he shook his head. "No, no, some things can't be helped." The General looked up at the sniper, who had slowly raised her head.

"...Well, fine, if you're so intent on it, I'll approve the papers."

Riza blinked, then nodded "Yes, sir."

Grumman motioned for her to shoo with an exasperated sigh. "Now, go on. I know you're dying to go to that Lt. Colonel of yours. Let me tell you now, Hawkeye, that he's probably fine, just sulking over the weather, as usual. No need to worry."

Riza saluted, and turned around to head out the door, steps perfect and precise as always, if a little more hurried than usual. Grumman forced himself to turn back to his papers, picking up a pen-

"Thank you. Grandfather."

The General sharply looked up in surprise, only to see the back of the door.

A small, bittersweet smile played at his lips.

**Patter, **

**Patter, **

**Patter, **

**Pitter.**

The rain had lessened.

"...Really. Just like her Father."


	24. Not There

Author's Note:

**MAJOR SPOILERS FOR CH. 100!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!**

That was a quick update, ne?

* * *

Roy has dreamed of this many times.

_Many...many times._

Some criminal wants him to do something; -_usually Ishvalans, sometimes Fuhrer Bradley but- _it's always, always someone dangerous.

The criminal has her restrained and he is helpless as strong arms -_or are they chains?-_ hold him back, stop him from reaching for his gloves and -_just one snap, just one damned snap can save her-_ he curses and wishes he hadn't brought her.

A weapon of some kind –_broken glass, a gun, **but, damnit, he has never thought of a sword**_- is held to her vitals.

"You will do it."

He has dreamed of this, many, many times...and each time, he has dreamed of her stubborn amber eyes telling him, _don't you dare_; if you do, I'll never forgive you, Colonel.

Always, always, the same, stubborn amber eyes.

But now, as it happens in reality, he doesn't have the ability to look at her wide, shocked eyes as she falls to her knees; he can barely bring himself to breathe, let alone think, as crimson blood spurts out her neck.

_There was no warning_, no threat.

Only an order he should have followed, _and knew he should have too late._

Her stubborn amber eyes...weren't there.

And Roy is futilely waiting for her to wake him up, like she always does when he has a nightmare at work, because this can't be happening,surely_ this can't be happening_ and this has to be some cruel, sick joke...because- he can't lose her, he had just told her, some time ago, that he couldn't...he'd told her, _he knew he had_, surely his Lieutenant wouldn't upset him like this-

But he suddenly realises when she hits the floor with a sickening thud that Riza is not going to wake him up and everything is not going to be alright because Riza is lying in front of him and she isn't getting up and she's _bleeding_ and this is**_ so much worse than anything else the world could ever throw at him._**

_"LIEUTENANT!!!"_


	25. So I'm Crying

Author's Note: Spoilers for ch. 100. _READ THE AUTHOR'S NOTE AT THE END!!_

* * *

"That was a close call, Lieutenant."

"Yes. It was."

"Don't do it again."

"...You know I can't promise you that."

"...Heh, yeah, I know."

"...Col-,"

"Funny, isn't it? How I always stupidly, irresponsibly, outrageously, demand such impossible things from you... Hah, it makes me want to laugh....but..."

"Colonel-,"

"Sorry, Lieutenant...I...can't laugh, right now. So...so......I-I'm crying, aren't I?"

"...No, sir. It's....only raining."

".....y-you think we might need...an umbrella?"

"It will dry up soon, Colonel.... Don't worry....everything...will be fine."

....

"...Heh. Always the reliable one, aren't you?"

"I like to think so, sir."

* * *

**IMPORTANT Author's Note:**

So, I'd like everyone to know that, based on Riza's wound in latest chapters, and the location of the carotid artery and trachea and neck muscles, I and a few other medical students (two FMA fans, and 1 non-fan-who's-a-doctor-of-8-years) have agreed that the sword _hasn't_ cut Riza's carotid artery or trachea, though it _may_ have damaged her jugular. **_This is a good thing_**_ people!_ When the jugular is damaged, it's really, really easy to compress it! If the wound is just compressed soon (maybe in 15-20 minutes?) to stop the blood loss, Riza will be fine!

I've read and heard about lots of people already start mourning Riza, on forums and other sites- and want to tell you all this: Riza Hawkeye has never let us down before- _and while Roy is alive, she will **not **die like this!!_

_RIZA HAWKEYE IS A FIGHTER AND A SOLDIER_ **SO BELIEVE IN HER DAMNIT!!!!!!!!!**


	26. Cureless

Author's Note: So, yeah, after the last motivational theme, I've gone back into my angst-mode again. ^^;;; Also, it seems Respect the Hobos has gone missing again- oh faithful reviewer, where have you gone?! ;_; I miss youuuu!

And...in other news *grins widely* B&B has now got _100+ reviews!!!!!_

**_*************EVERYONE: THANK YOU ALL SO MUCH!!!!!!!!*************_**

**_*************Though I know I don't have much time and can't always reply to your reviews- I love and treasure every single one of them!!*************_**

**_ *************Thank You!!!*************_**

* * *

Dead.

Roy can't quite get his head around the fact.

His teacher...dead.

Died on his desk, the doctor had said, and already dead by the time Roy had stupidly panicked and called for a doctor.

..._Dead_.

He hears the sound of plates clinking and heels hitting the floor and abruptly looks up to see Riza.

_(Quiet, innocent Riza, who had never so much as harmed a fly; who didn't deserve a father always locked up in his study, a mother never known or felt, a childhood friend that never visited-)_

His heart painfully clenches at the nostalgic silver tray and it's shaking china cups, held so precariously in her tiny, pale, trembling hands.

She was still trying to act normal, act polite, act just like her father had raised her.

_(Had he really been away so long, that he had even forgotten she didn't know how to grieve?)_

"I'll carry that."

His tone is low and hoarse as he hurries to grab the tray with his right hand (_an easy task, because he was much stronger than frail, little Riza, always had been-_) and steer her to the table with his left hand, ignoring her small, almost unheard protests.

"...N-no...I can...I..."

"No."

She relents at the tone in his voice and sits down and turns her head away so he doesn't see her puffy, bloodshot eyes as they absentmindedly study the dusty, deep purple curtains.

(_It hurts, she's telling him, in that special way of hers; it hurts, she's saying, because she has always been alone, even though she has tried not to be -**how could he** have forgotten her lonely, overlooked figure at her father's door?- but now her father is gone and Roy is going to leave –why does he have to, again?- and it **hurts**.) _

Roy sets the tray down and sits across her. He is close enough to give a comforting presence (_and painfully realise she's gotten thinner_), but far enough to pretend he hadn't noticed her red-rimmed eyes the moment she came in.

Riza doesn't look up at him, but reaches out to give him tea with her shaking, shaking, _trembling, **trembling**_ hands.

(_His heart recoils and clenches and **screams** and) _Roy's hands, so much bigger now, so much more callused now, so different from before, reach out and covers hers.

"Riza."

He is desperate.

Because her hands have changed, too.

(_She looks up at him with those amber, amber eyes and he remembers that tight, tight hug of goodbye and Roy can't breathe because he **has** missed her, he has, he has, he has missed her so, so much-)_

And then he is standing and has pulled her to him and his arms are around her and her head is buried in his chest and he is strong and she is shaking and Riza doesn't know how to grieve but neither does Roy and **why oh why hadn't he visited?**

_"Riza,"_ The pitiful, pitiful whisper sneaks out pitiful, pitiful lips, _"I don't know. I don't know how to make it better. I don't. I'm so sorry I don't."_

She doesn't answer immediately and he is afraid of too soon, too long, too late- but then her hands tighten their hold on the back of his shirt and all he can feel is her in his arms and relief and-

_"...I don't expect you to know." _Her voice is soft and just slightly muffled but he can hear it and he wants to cry, _"I don't expect you...to know the remedy to cureless things. You don't...need to know. Just...being here is...enough."_

And- for the first time in years, Roy felt whole.

(_12 hours later he would see her back and never feel at peace again.)_

**_He should have visited._**


	27. Dependency

Author's Note: Sorry this one's lacking my usual motivation. There was some trouble on the home front last night when my surrogate-older-sister got lost and there was a mini-search party and everyone came home tired and exhausted and irritated so it may have affected my writing. -_-;;

YourLifeInWords: Sorry I couldn't message you back I couldn't find the time honestly I'm so stressed- I'll try and message you awhile later, I'm so sorry.

Everyone: I'm so sorry if I haven't replied to all your reviews, believe me I try but I don't remember who I did and who I didn't and just barely have time anymore- I'm so sorry but I thank you all deeply and sincerely- it's every single one of your reviews that keep me going!

Respect the Hobos: Where are you?! T_T

* * *

You hate feeling helpless.

You hate feeling defeated.

You hate feeling like someone has just _reached out_ and easily pulled your whole world out from under you.

You hate feeling...like this.

* * *

It's so strange, to think you've got everything under control- that it's dangerous, but it'll be fine, because, after all, _she's waiting for you_ and nothing has gone wrong when she was there behind you-

And then, a few words, some new facts stated by a monster and all your confidence falls down around you, like a crumbling castle wall that used to protect you from doubts and fear and worry.

* * *

Riza Hawkeye will...no longer....be by your side.

**Riza Hawkeye** will....**no longer......**

* * *

You know why you are shaking.

_(No more smiling good mornings, no more stern reminders,) _

Because you have become blatant.

_(No more bullet holes, no more reassurance,)_

Foolish.

_(No more steps sounding behind his, no more golden hair in an old fashioned clasp,)_

Weak.

_(No more glances over his shoulder and she is safe and sound and right behind him just as she has always been,)_

Pathetic.

_**(No more amber eyes.)**_

* * *

_You don't remember how to breathe._


	28. Pain & Wounds

Author's Note: I'm feeling rebellious against Monday and was struck by the writing bug, so here ya go people :D Early post!

* * *

Outside the room Riza Hawkeye is currently being taken care of, Roy Mustang sits on the cold, plastic benches. His back is hunched as he leans down with his arms limply strew across his knees, his dark, dark eyes staring at the floor as he waits and waits and_ waits_.

_-He doesn't know what's going on inside her room right now, (he doesn't know if he wants to) he doesn't even know how long it's been since he's been waiting, waiting, waiting. (But he knows the doctors had rushed in before he started waiting, lots of doctors, lots, lots, lots of doctors but that's good, that's good, isn't it good because they'll make Riza better?)_

_Because he remembers the blood, blood, blood (warm, crimson blood which should be inside people and not outside, and most certainly not outside Riza because that is wrong, wrong, very wrong), but don't worry, don't worry, lots of doctors, doctors, doctors-_

"Colonel."

For a second, Roy's heart contracts in pure, unadulterated terror.

_-It's a doctor, it's a doctor, it's a doctor, doctor, doctor, no, no, no, no, no! B-but Riza's fine, Riza's gonna be fine, fine, fine, fine, **fine** (no doctors, no doctors, please no doctors, why is he so scared of doctors?!)-_

He looks up.

"...Fullmetal."

_-Is that his voice? It sounds so hoarse and scared and scared and it wasn't a doctor, the doctors are still inside, inside with her, making her better, of course it wasn't a doctor, no, no doctors...-_

The blonde alchemist stares at Roy for a moment before carefully sitting next to him, and the Colonel goes back to staring at the floor.

"...How is...the Lieutenant?"

**_Pain._**

_-But he doesn't know how she is, he doesn't know, doesn't know, doesn't want to know-the tiles are black and white, black and white, dark red on Riza's white skin so wrongwrongwrong-_

"...As expected."

"...Is- is she gonna...di-,"

_-DON'T SAY IT!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!-_

Before either alchemist can even blink Roy has already turned around and slammed the young blond against the wall, onyx eyes savage and wild (_so desperate)._

"**Shut Up**!" He hisses into the startled young boy's face (_because Ed knows **nothing** of watching the most important person in your life bleed because of you and your damned, **damned alchemy** and there is only so much a breaking man can take)_, "**You don't know anything**."

Though sympathetic, golden eyes still flare and narrow at him as the child roughly removes himself from the man's grasp, and for a moment Ed is the man as he stares the Flame Alchemist down and Roy is the child because all he wants to do is scream and cry and have her back at his side-

"You-,"

"Colonel Mustang?"

Polite voice. Blood stained white lab coat. Glasses.

_-Doctor-_

Ed turns quickly towards the man, his full attention on him as the child fearlessly seeks facts.

Roy cannot do the same because his body refuses to move.

-_Doctor, doctor, Riza's doctor, Riza's doctor- but, but she has to be fine, has to be fine, yes, fine, fine, fine, Riza would laugh at his fear if she was here, yes, because Riza is brave and strong, and she is **fine** and he **can** say sorry and thank you and tell her so many things he should have told her before because she is finefinefinefine**FINE** - _

"Riza..." Roy can barely hear his voice above the sound of his heart beating and pumping blood though his body, almost bursting out his chest as he turns to the doctor and Ed is silent, _everything is silent._

"Riza...Hawkeye......Riza......how's Riza?"

Roy's whole world is in the hands of the doctor, the total stranger in front of him.

-_She has to be fine-_

The old doctor looks at him, smiling, "She's going to make it."

...It is a sunny, cloudless day, in the middle of a hospital, with no open windows.

But it rains.

_Oh, how it rains._

"...Thank you."


	29. Existence

Author's Note: *sniffs* Ugh. I'm sick. And _sneezing_ **blood**. You all had better appreciate me posting this despite that.

* * *

There are times, when Roy is casually signing the last few batches of paperwork, or sipping his coffee, or catching sight of a stray strand of his 1st Lieutenant's hair coming out of its clasp, that it occurs to him, the annoying, frequent thought, bothering him whenever he has his guard down and completely souring his day...

The fact that Riza Hawkeye has never had a family.

She had _had_ a Mother, the Flame Alchemist was sure of that, he had seen her grave himself _(he wonders if the late Mrs Hawkeye looked like Riza, if she had had the same golden hair, same amber eyes, same pearly skin- then shivers, because he does **not** **want** a dead person to look like Riza-)_, but he was sure she had died when the blond sniper was still young, still just only wearing ribbons in her hair...(_it makes him feel slightly cheated, and almost ashamed, that he can't even **begin** to imagine Riza as a child, let alone with ribbons)_...she'd have probably been around Elicia's age..(_he wonders if Riza remembers her Mother, and if Elicia would forget her Father- and suddenly feels sick to the stomach, like he had put Riza's Mother in danger and gotten her killed, as well as his best friend.)_

But despite her brief presence in her life (_but then maybe Roy had gotten it wrong, maybe Mrs Hawkeye hadn't lived past Riza's toddler years at all, maybe he didn't know anything and she died after giving birth to his 1st Lieutenant- but somehow the thought of not knowing Riza's life as well as he thought he did **stung**_), he was sure that Riza hadn't had a Mother figure.

She hadn't had someone to get her dressed for school, to make her breakfast and lunch and dinner, to tuck her in at night, to bandage and kiss her wounds, to hold her after she had nightmares...

(_No. Little Riza Hawkeye never went to school, she was homeschooled, given books and told to learn from them. She had made breakfast and lunch and dinner and **tea** for her and her distant, uncaring father. She had not been tucked in at night. She had bandaged her own wounds. She had lain awake, crying, all alone after her nightmares. He knows that. Oh, God, **how** **well** **he**__** knows that**.)_

And her Father...

(_He doesn't want to think about it. He doesn't want to be reminded of red ink marring white flesh and the size of it and her shivering and sensei, sensei, oh God, **why her** sensei???!!)_

Her Father had been nothing.

(_Because Hawkeye-sensei had been right, at the end. He **had** long since died, he had died and become an empty husk, because **no living father** could-_)

And...that was it.

No Mother-figure to speak of. No Father's presence. No siblings.

No friends.

(_Except for a fool of an apprentice, who had tea with her every time her father refused, and stayed up with her after she had nightmares, whispering alchemic codes and other such nonsense to get her to sleep, and -)_

Riza Hawkeye had had no family.

Not like Roy. Not at all like Roy.

(_The guilt tears him up inside._)

Roy had had Chris and (_dusty, deep red curtains, the sharp smell of booze, but laughter and laughter and **so** **much** **warm** **laughter** among)_ his foster sisters.

He had had people to love and take care of him and raise him.

Riza...had not.

(_And he finds it bitterly, unfairly ironic, that he, who had been an orphan before her, had had a happier childhood than her.)_

Heck, every single one of his subordinates had had a family (_Feury's worrywort Mother and Father and overbearing brothers, Havoc's pushy parents and siblings, Breda's old geezer of a Father and sharp elder brother, even **Falman's** parents were still alive and kicking, relaxing in his sister's home among their grandchildren_.)

But Riza?

Riza (_who looked after him and followed him and smiled at him and argued with him and reprimanded him and kept him from going mad­-_) came back to an empty apartment, excluding the dog.

(_He finds himself feeling grateful for the mutt, who he hoped slept by his Mistress's side and didn't let her feel lonely by leaving her._)

It is as he muses upon this fact, frowns at its implications and feels his mood slowly worsening, that Riza comes in.

(_And he doesn't know how it happens, why it happens but-_)

Havoc is reprimanded for smoking and grins sheepishly, Falman shakes his head, Feury pats Hayate, Breda makes an excuse to run away from the dog, Riza sighs and hands him more paperwork, because, after all, everyone is used to this by now.

_(And it feels-)_

Roy blinks.

(_Despite the group being made up of two snipers, one pyromaniac, a stuttering technician, an old information expert and a pudgy man with great aptitude for chess..._)

The corners of his lips twitch up.

(_Despite the lack of parents, lack of siblings, lack of a good, worthy friend..._)

Riza catches it and raises an eyebrow.

(_He wonders if, despite it all, he already gave her a family.)_

She hides her smile, but he sees it anyway.


	30. Conversation

Author's Note: I wanted to do some snippets from Roy and Riza's early days together in the military ^_^;;;

* * *

"I don't like the look of the weather," She tells him, frowning lightly, her magnificent amber eyes darkening in displeasure. Weak sunlight filters through the window and peppers her hair with gold and Roy has to blink before coming to the window.

"Really?" He stands by her side as he too peers out, vainly searching for a sign of sunshine. He curses the rain under his breath.

She raises an eyebrow at him, a touch sternly, and he, knowing not to bother arguing with her silent command, turns around, a certain defeated air around him.

"Alright....call the men, and tell them we'll be working on..." The Flame Alchemist winces dramatically as he sits behind his desk, a pained expression on his face, "..._paperwork_...only today."

The corner of her lips twitch.

"Yes, sir."

Roy half-heartedly grumbles as he takes out his favourite ballpoint pen, mumbling so she couldn't hear.

"Not like you'd let me out anyway."

* * *

When her cover is blown after helping the other hostages escape, his head turns towards her in a sharp movement of recognition, and he ignores the pain in his neck to stare incredulously at her.

"Hawkeye!?!"

She nods at him, impassive as they run away from terrorists and gunshots, two familiar pistols loaded and ready in both her hands, "Lieutenant Colonel."

He splutters, almost absentmindedly snapping towards the entrance, his trusty flames clearing their way of threats and blockages, "You- you- I told you to stay at- you weren't supposed to be-,"

She nods again, shooting at a few strays as they sprint out into the main corridor, "I'm afraid General Grumman disagreed with your decisions, Lt. Colonel."

Sudden rage fuels Roy's flames and as his alchemy disables the remaining enemies instantly, he stops running in the middle of the battlefield, to demand, "Why didn't he consult me about this?!"

Riza rolls her eyes and patiently explains, wearily eyeing the twitching criminals, "He didn't think you'd agree, sir."

"Of course I wouldn't agr-!" The angry Flame Alchemist doesn't notice the figure behind his back.

Riza's eyes flash and she falls to the ground, sweeping her superior to the floor with her right leg before shooting and immobilising the threat.

"We should keep running," She tells him sharply, glancing left and right, ignoring his indignant complaints as she helps him up and they continued running towards the exit.

Later, she would let out a relieved sigh at him being unharmed, and Roy would decide that he could forgive her for her embarrassing method of protecting him (one of many to come) and disobeying his orders, considering the motives behind it.

* * *

"Check," The blond sniper moves her white knight in a threatening position towards Roy's black King.

Her Lieutenant Colonel raises an eyebrow as he brings his King to safety, for the second time in five minutes. They were playing chess together on his request ("I'm playing against General Grumman again- I need practice.") and it seemed, at the moment, that he was being viciously cornered (_by his **aide** of all people_) and losing. Quite badly.

"You're surprisingly talented at this game Hawkeye," He notes as her keen eyes scan her pieces positions, resisting the urge to fidget at the predatory gleam in her amber eyes, "Who taught you?"

Riza notices a good opportunity and the gleam brightens, "No one in particular. Father taught me the basics, and I picked up a few moves here and there. The rest is inherited, I suppose." She mercilessly corners Roy even farther with her bishop, "Check."

Roy grimaces and dodges his impending defeat yet again, though it was perfectly clear who would be victor; two- no, _one _more move and he would be a goner. "Would it be cowardly if I concede defeat now?" He muses.

"That's rather unnecessary sir," Riza moves her Queen in a finishing blow, a rather triumphant expression on her face "Checkmate."

Roy knows he isn't imagining the look, or the slight pride in her voice, and wonders why he is reminded, suddenly, of the exact General he had been planning to win against with this practice.

* * *

Roy stares in surprise at Riza's tea, something like nostalgia on his face, "You...still drink it light, huh?"

Riza studies him for a minute and something in her amber eyes makes Roy feel strange, "...I'll make one for you too, Lieutenant Colonel." She says.

"...Thanks, Lieutenant,"

"Not a problem, sir." Her voice is somewhat kinder.

He chuckles lightly, the awkwardness gone as she turns around to head to the kitchen again, "You always...did make them best." He murmurs, and though he isn't sure if she heard him, he thinks he can see a hint of happiness in her walk.

* * *

"Lieutenant Colonel."

"...Mm...? What...what's it...Hawkeye..?"

"You should wake up now."

"Nnn...whyy....??"

"General Grumman wants you to-,"

"Tell 'im I'll do it laaater..."

"No, sir, I don't think-,"

"GREAT! Thank you Riza, dear, I just KNEW he'd agree to go if YOU asked him to!!!"

"Mmm, sure..keep quiet General..."

"Then I'll expect you both on a train to Risembool bright and early tomorrow morning!! Bye~!"

"Mmm, fi-.....RISEMBOOL?!?!!?!??!?!?!!? W-wait, General?! Th-that's- Li-Lieutenant, that's a nine hour trip!!!!"

"I tried to tell you, sir..."


	31. Home Cooking

Author's Note: A longer theme this time, to make up for the last one. I rather like this one :D Young!Riza in ep. 30 was too cute, so I wanted to write something near that time period.

* * *

Roy woke up early on the day of his departure. His onyx eyes blearily opened as if commanded by an unseen force, and his whole body started to get back into motion. He could already feel his brain buzzing with conscious thoughts, his breathing adjusting to his woken body...

(_"Isn't it so nice to wake up after a good night's sleep, Mr Mustang?"_)

For a moment, Roy stared up at the Hawkeye's guest room's ceiling (_it was previously **his** room and **his** ceiling- but he had no right to call it that now, did he?_) thinking about how large and high and looming it had looked to him as a boy. Now...it was...so small and...low and.....

(_Normal. Alien. It was normal and alien at the same time, because by the time he left he'd been so used to the cracks and spider webs, but in the years in between his return he'd been pampered with empty, pale, unmarked ceilings and soft beds..._)

He wondered if Riza was awake yet.

(_Her ceiling was the same as hi-this one, he remembered, because she had fallen sick one winter and he'd kept coming in to check on her and offer clumsily made tea for her sore throat._)

Perhaps on instinct, his lips smiled.

(_For a moment, he was tempted with the thought of going back to sleep, of sleeping past noon and missing his train, because Riza would never wake him if he was asleep, and then he could stay, just a little while, just stay a little while longer..._)

He didn't know why.

It is then, that the scent of something sweet drifted into his nose.

Roy blinked.

"...She's..._baking_??"

He sat up, curious, and set out to get himself decently dressed (_and stop wondering why he wanted to see her in an apron, to see her making something for him and act like he lived here and it was all normal and not going to end._)

When Roy entered the Hawkeye's old, but dustless kitchen he was greeted by the strangely heartwarming sight of Riza Hawkeye in an apron, glancing into the oven now and then as she set out a bowl and some ingredients for something or another- he suspected cream or icing.

(_Roy didn't want to think, didn't want to remember what day it was, didn't want to do anything but bathe in the feeling of being so deliciously warm and at home and **happy**._)

He stared at Riza from the shadows (_he'd unknowingly taken a step back, instinctively preserving his time, though he wasn't sure what it was to be used for_) for a while; and she continued measuring and pouring and mixing milk, some powder and a white substance he thought was sugar, but could've been more powder, in a bowl, unaware that he was in the room.

It was when she started humming a tune he'd never heard before that Roy was viciously brought back to reality.

(_She used to hum a lot when he was here studying; when she brought him tea, when she was cleaning- whenever he'd seen her, in fact. But she hadn't hummed this tune. She had never hummed this tune. And, Roy bleakly realised, he hadn't seen her hum, not once, in all the time he'd been back._)

He felt suddenly ashamed at staring at her for so long. He'd had no right to (_he didn't belong here anymore_).

They had...almost nothing to do with each other.

(_The warmth was gone._)

"...Good Morning," Roy mumbled, his tone sounding dead to even his own ears.

Riza turned around with a start, and he felt something hurt at the surprised look on her face, as if she hadn't expected him to be in the kitchen, hadn't expected him to be in the house, at all.

She smiled at him, and he felt slightly soothed- the pain lessened, "Good morning, Mr Mustang."

"What are you making?" He asked, his voice casual again, as he bravely walked to her side, eyeing the bowls as if he hadn't just spent God knew how many minutes stari- _observing_.

Next to him, Riza flushed.

(_He had realised this long ago, but now Roy remembers **distinctly** that he loved making her flush._)

"Well," She looked slightly embarrassed, as she glanced at the bowls almost guiltily, "You're...going today....so I thought I should make you something..."

(_Roy felt the sting and the warmth at the same time._)

He grinned at her, "You've already made me breakfast, lunch _and_ dinner all week."

(_Had it really only been a week_?)

"Yes, but..."

He cut her off, stepping just a bit closer, a small smile on his lips.

"How 'bout I help with the last bit?"

Though he had meant to sound friendly- to sound joking or teasing- Roy's voice had lowered without him knowing, and it had sounded like he was hesitant...pleading.

Beautiful amber eyes widened and Roy felt his heart _beat_.

_(The world turned in those few seconds, and for a moment, he thought he saw a life with blue military uniforms and her constantly by his side.)_

"...Okay." She smiled faintly.

Roy's lips twitched, and then he smiled back at Riza, (_suddenly feeling as if all was right with the world and that all his worries had been for nothing,_) "Okay." He repeated, and rolled up his sleeves, smiling as onyx eyes appraising the situation, "So, what do I do?"

Riza almost, _almost_ grinned at him, amber eyes brightening with a sparkle, (_and he knew, somehow, that she felt better too.) _"Wash your hands first, Mr Mustang, and then I'll show you how to do the mixing..."

(_He was Roy. She was Riza. And that...that was, oddly, good enough.)_


	32. Shirt

Author's Note: Short drabble this time around, sorry guys! (Respect-the-Hobos: Good to see you back!!! :D)

* * *

Every day, in and out, Riza wears the same black shirt.

Even if it isn't _visible_, it's always **there**- under her military uniform or civilian clothes.

Every day, she wears that black shirt, even though it's become skin-tight now, instead of its former baggy and loose state.

It's a very old shirt.

* * *

You see, it once belonged to a young, orphaned, boy.

He was a very kind, very dreaming and ambitious boy.

He used to come to a little girl's house, to see her Father, and learn a powerful, dangerous art.

The girl would serve tea and food, quietly, not speaking much.

But the boy was always sincere with her. And he always gave her a smile.

They talked, sometimes.

It felt right.

But then, one day, the boy left. He took the black shirt with him.

The girl was sad.

And then, the boy came back, but he was a man.

The girl was still there, but she was a woman.

Her father had died, but they didn't know if they could call him that anymore.

Things had changed, like they are prone to doing.

And eventually, he left again.

But, somehow, the black shirt was left behind, and the woman couldn't bear to throw it away- to throw away a part of that little boy, all those years ago, or a part of that young man, who so easily calmed her with his presence.

And, perhaps, the man had left it, knowingly, because he couldn't bear to completely leave the remnants of that little girl, to leave that young woman who so soothed his heart, again.

* * *

Years have passed.

And Riza still wears that shirt.


	33. A Walk

Author's Note: Important news in my author's note at the end!

* * *

He likes going on walks with her, these days.

As they walk through its streets, Amestris is buzzing with conversation, arguments, laughter and sorrow and joy; damaged buildings are still being reconstructed and recent events are still celebrated and those who have passed are still mildly mourned- it is not peaceful, not by far, but the city is wonderfully **_alive_**.

The grey streets are not clean when they walk, but littered with candy wrappers and rice and streamers.

The sky is not clear when he glances up; clouds make it so that glimpses of the sun are sudden and rare and sting his eyes.

The breeze is not the temperature he would've liked it to be, as he grabs her hand with his sweaty one to pull her back under the half-pretence of wanting to skip work.

Nothing is perfect as she smiles at him, and he catches sight of the scar on her neck.

And his plans are ruined as she shakes her head and pulls him along, fully aware of his motives, but he doesn't protest when he trudges by her side, her hand still entwined with his.

And she is alive and he is alive and they are alive and the city is fine.

...And it's all so beautiful, it takes his breath away.

* * *

Author's Note: Those who don't want spoilers for ch. 101 look away now!

.

.

.

*gr~ins*

I told you Riza wouldn't die.


	34. Telephone

Author's Note: So, I'm procrastinating on homework and wanted to write something funny :D

* * *

Tap. Tap. Tap.

Four pairs of eyebrows twitched, for the fiftieth time in 27 long, unnerving minutes.

Tap. Tap. Tap. TapTap.

Tap.

Four pairs of eyes turned to glare ferociously at Colonel Roy Mustang.

Tap.

Tap. Tap.

Ta-

"Colonel,"

Tap. TapTap.

Tap. Tap. Tap. Tap.

A door slammed.

TapTapTapTa-

Havoc's fist banged onto the table and he let out a choked scream, "Colonel!"

The startled Flame Alchemist looked up, his pen dropping onto the floor, "Yes?"

Falman groaned and buried his face in his hands, muttering to himself something along the line of 'hallelujah' and 'torture'.

Feury slumped forwards onto his desk, whimpering under his breath, "Half an hour. _Half_ _an_ **_hour_**...."

Roy blinked at his four disturbed subordinates, "Is something the matter?"

Breda, who had previously stormed out, came back in, brandishing the formerly banned-by-order-of-the-operator telephone.

"Call her already!" he demanded, eyes wild as he dropped the thing on Roy's desk, "_Please_!"

Instantly, a petulant look came onto their superior's face, "Call? Her? Whoever do you mean? _I'm_ doing _paperwork_." He began to reach for his discarded pen on the floor...

"NO!"

...only to freeze in surprise as Fuery and Havoc leaped off their chairs and grabbed his feet, looking up at him with pleading eyes.

"PLEASE, COLONEL!!!" Breda thrust the handle towards the black-haired man, sweating, "If this goes on, we'll go cra- er...crazed with worry! Yeah, we- we're worried!!! We want to know how she's doin'!!" The 2nd Lieutenant looked Roy on the eye, "So, _call_ _her_. **_PLEASE_**."

As the Colonel turned to stare at the phone, Breda mouthed, urgently, at the two soldiers on the floor: GET. THE. PEN.

"Well..." Roy put on an act of great reluctance, "If you insist, IguessIcan'tsayno!" An act which was promptly given away as he hurriedly grabbed the phone from Breda and dialled his 1st Lieutenant's home number with an urgent, almost manic gleam in his eyes.

Meanwhile, Havoc successfully obtained the accursed pen that had been torturing their ears with its tapping, and all of Mustang's present subordinates let out a silent cheer.

"Hello? Lieutenant!" Roy's voice was abnormally high pitched, and Havoc, Falman, Fuery and Breda settled, content, into their chairs to watch with amusement as their Colonel sweated.

"Yes, yes it's me!"

"No, no, nothing's wrong! It's just that I- th-the _men_ were worried about you! How are you doing, by the way?"

"Ah, nothing's changed since my last call, huh? Soo...how's your throat? Is it still sore? Any dizziness at all? Has your doctor called? I hope you don't mind that blood test I issued..."

"Oh. You didn't...know I issued it? Um, well, you see...That's a funny story actually...."

"No, no, Lieutenant, of course I don't doubt your health! It's just, you know, when you're unwell, it's best to get an over-all check up..."

"W-well, yes, I know the doctor should check on you, not me. But I can't help calling a lot, since, as your superior it is my duty to-,"

"P-p-paperwork? Y...yes! All done!!"

"Of course, even the Wedding Documents for General Maser!"

"...Wait, there ARE no documents? There IS no General Maser? Lieutenant, that's mean, to trick your superior officer like that!"

"Fine, fine, I'll get back to work- RIGHT after your health is confir-,"

"Hello? Lieutenant? Hello?"

The Flame Alchemist stared, hurt and outraged, at the phone in his hands, "She hung up on me!"

Havoc held back a chuckle as his fellow soldiers sniggered, "Well, sir," he muttered, "That was your twentieth phone call this morning..."

Roy looked up at them, indignant, "It was my twenty third!" Then, realising that the fact didn't help his case, the Colonel moodily sat at his desk, head in his arms.

Fifteen minutes later, upon not finding a pen to sullenly tap, Roy reached for the telephone again.

"Lieutenant? Are you sure you're taking your medication??"

* * *

Let's just say that, at the end of the day, when the operators found out how large a bill Roy had racked up, they were feeling slightly homicidal towards a certain Alchemist.


	35. Letter

Author's Note: O-KAY! So, having put away all the fuzzies and happiness from ch. 101, I am back to writing what I write best!!! RoyAi _Angst_! Sorry for the format of this one- but I couldn't write it any other way... +sweatdrops+ Forgive me, and let me know if I ruined it for you!

* * *

_"Don't you have something light-hearted to talk about...?"_

Had the asker been anyone but Hughes, Roy would've laughed out loud.

Light hearted?

_Light hearted_?

* * *

Oh, sure, he has **plenty** of _light_ _hearted_ subjects to talk about:

His dead parents whose names and faces were unknown to him (but he knew they were probably turning in their graves, where ever they were, with every life their son took, every town he destroyed _**all**_ _too_ _**easily**_),

His foster Mother manning the bar as his foster sisters entertain drunks (all secretly praying, Roy knew, that he would come back in one piece, making him feel all the more filthier with their unconditional love and concern),

His deceased teacher leaving behind his daughter (and Roy's childhood friend) with no parent, no job, no income- and, oh yeah, the secrets to the flame alchemy Roy was using to _slaughter_ _thousands_ **tattooed** onto her back,

Lack of letters and/or news concerning aforementioned deceased teacher's daughter,

The tiny little voice in the back of his head hissing, with every snap of his gloved fingers, that he had completely betrayed her trust and Riza would be disgusted if she saw him

And the fact that he was only so curt with his friend because he was jealous of Hughes and his letters, jealous of him for having someone to come back to, jealous of him for knowing that the sole reason for him keeping himself alive was still safe and sound and didn't hate him, unlike Roy whose dreams usually had _her_ accusing face mingling starkly among those he had killed-

* * *

But then they are ambushed and Roy cannot keep thinking of all the _perfectly light hearted _things he has to talk about as he tries to desperately keep living for someone he thinks is back in Amestris and he isn't really sure will want to see him, but who he wants to beg forgiveness and seek redemption from, nonetheless.

* * *

_(T__he war has taken too many things from him- he does not want it to take her too.)_


	36. Dog

Author's Note: Been wanting to write this since the Seventh time I re-read ch. 101

* * *

He is useless, again.

He has struggled and struggled and tried to get to her, reach her, help her, _save her;_ but he is pathetic, a pathetic alchemist, pathetic leader, pathetic human- because _he cannot reach her_ and surely every second, every minute that passes, she will bleed and bleed and she _will die if he doesn't do something-_ but he doesn't know what to do anymore: go save Lieutenant, answer Lieutenant, Lieutenant, hold on, hold on, _human transmutation _and the damned doctor is taunting him he _doesn't_ _know_-

Amestris or her, Amestris or her, the answer to the damned question should be so ridiculously easy, but it _isn't_, because he _can't_ kill so many again, he _won't_ commit the taboo (or so he tells himself) _but she is bleeding, bleeding, **bleeding** and **he** **will** **die himself and damn the world** before he lets her die-_

He is running out of time, her blood is running, gushing out onto the floor, she's quiet now, quiet, she can't die, she _won't_ _**die**_, Amestris, Riza, Amestris, Lieutenant, _tell me what to do, Lieutenant!_

**Amber eyes glaring at him.**

He can see his world reflected in her eyes, his and her war and promises and guns and flames and arrays and she is angry at him, _she is angry at him for even considering it._

And he can see her message, plain as day, he can see it-

'If you do human transmutation, I'll beat you to death.'

...

And that should be it, that should be all, _he should be able to refuse-_

But he..._can't._

**_He is too selfish to let her die_**.

He had known the answer all along.

He is too selfish to save Amestris instead of her.

Too selfish.

At the end of the day, he is still a sinner who would rather have her alive and his country doomed than the opposite.

He is not a saint, never has been.

He is about to say the words, about to give in-

But then her amber eyes send another message.

And he suddenly _understands_.

He hates himself, though.

"...I get it."

He is a dog of the military, he is a murderer, he is a sinner- he has no right to continue killing, continue doing wrong when she is there, telling him not to.

"I get it, Lieutenant."

Unlike Ishval, she is here now, showing him the difference between right and wrong, and he _cannot upset her, cannot refuse her_- not now.

"I won't do human transmutation."

_But had her eyes not told him help had come, he would have._

_He would have, and he both hates and thanks himself for the fact._

_

* * *

_Author's Note: So, am I the only one who had to have it pointed out to her that the second time Riza was glaring at Roy (with her eyes looking slightly more upwards) and he suddenly had a revelation, it _wasn't_ because he understood she was saying "If you do human transmutation, I'll beat you to death." (he'd gotten that message on the first glare, apparently) but because he understood she was signalling help had come and that was why he said he wouldn't do human transmutation? Honestly, I felt so dumb for not figuring it out earlier- how else would Roy know about the guys above when he said "The rug is about to be pulled out from under your feet!" and how else would he have remained so calm when Riza was in danger of dying?! +facepalms+ Plus, I'd known something had felt fishy- Roy is simply not un-selfish enough to sacrifice the most important person in his life for the greater good. And now, I don't feel a bit betrayed as I first did when I thought he was really leaving Riza for dead! Yays!


	37. Match

Author's Note: +sweat drops+ Ah, Roy. Poor, poor Roy. I'm so mean to him... But I like it XD My shortest (I think?) theme so far, but dear God, I couldn't _resist_~!!

* * *

Amber eyes widened, as he'd dreaded they would.

"Err....um, Colonel...I, umm..." A sudden, unnatural stiffness came about around her mouth, and rib cage, respectively.

Roy Mustang, dressed fully and totally in what could only be described as _drag_ sighed in resignation and closed his desolate, mascara-decorated onyx eyes in absolute mortification.

"Go on, Lieutenant." He painfully muttered- the stockings chafing his cruelly abused legs, the dress torturously tight around his hips, the fake breasts feeling like bowling balls weighing him down and the damned itchy wig making him want to scream blue murder, throw it to the ground and stamp on it with his painful high heels before dissolving into an illegible, whimpering blob of tantrums, self-pity and wounded dignity. "I know you want to laugh."

He was grateful that his dearest (and did he mention favourite?) subordinate not only held in all amusement she may or may not have felt towards his predicament, but held sympathy in her eyes towards his pitiful, pitiful state.

Oh, and it was so, so pitiful.

The crazy General had even applied lipstick.

_Lip_. **_Stick_**.

Roy was, needless to say, scarred for life.

And he swore, as his other (least favourite, least favourite, oh _so_ least favourite) subordinates came in and laughed their heads off until he took out his gloves with a threatening glare, that never, ever, **_EVER_** again would he participate in a poker match against General Grumman, _especially_ if the details of his next mission were at stake.

(The worst part was that Roy had yet to learn the next phase of Grumman's plan- involving him in his current garb, Riza dressed as a boy, a balcony, and a certain scene taken out of a very well known play by a W. Shakespeare....but, then again, some things...are better left unsaid.)


	38. Mischief

Author's Note: I think I've unleashed my inner sadist...This is a sequel to the last theme btw, so read that first XD

* * *

Roy couldn't help but think, as he looked Riza's outfit up and down, his lips twitching maniacally all the while, that though she didn't deserve it, though she'd been nothing but supportive of him all the way-

_-Grumman is crazy thinking he'll get away with this...-_

It was so, _so_ **_sweet_** to see someone else suffer as he was.

The Flame Alchemist's 1st Lieutenant closed her eyes, hands at her sides, making motions to shoot with guns she didn't have.

The _only _thing stopping her from murdering her Grandfather was the General's word that their mission was important enough to possibly give her Colonel a raise.

Considering that Riza was wearing a fake, itchy goatee, an even itchier brown wig (Mustang forbade her to dye her -_beautiful_- hair) and a ridiculously puffy top to hide her figure, as well as uncomfortably tight pants, the sniper's patience and loyalty should have been applauded.

Instead, Roy was having trouble keeping the absolutely delighted grin off his face, making her imagine shooting both him and Grumman where it _hurt_.

"Ahum," Roy coughed, trying to hide the horrible snickers that were escaping out his mouth -he was amused, but not dumb enough to have a death wish-, "Are you, er, ahem, ready- um," More poorly concealed snickers, and Riza's stuck-on-thick eyebrows twitched as she gestured to the watching stage hands, forcing Roy to finally gasp out her codename, "A-Albert?"

The sniper's glare could have melted an iced over lake with its intensity, "Yes." A pair of pearl-white teeth gritted and his Lieutenant gave as good as she got, "Are _you_, **_Victoria_**?"

Roy winced, all amusement immediately vanishing at the reminder of his current, feminine attire, "Ahem, yes, of...of course." He felt a distinct pang of shame that his voice was so easy to pass off as a female's.

"Good."

Awkwardly, Riza held out her arm for her superior, "Well then, let's..." She grimaced, "...get this over with."

Grimacing himself, Roy let his aide lead him onto the stage, a smattering applause among the audience welcome him.

His eyes keenly searched the other actors for signs of the serial killer supposedly mingling within them, but before he could gleam anything useful, the lady-dressed-as-a-man next to him elbowed him for his opening line.

The Flame Alchemist groaned inwardly. This was going to be a long, long...

"As the audience may observe, it is I, Juliet, and my love, Romeo! Welcome to the newest version of our tragic, beautiful love! The original play of William Shakespeare, edited by General Grumman, of the Amestrisian Military!"

...**_LONG_** night.

* * *

Several torturous hours filled with singing, dramatic monologue, ballroom dancing, sword fights and fake suicides later, both Roy and Riza ran away from viewers' wishing to meet them, and collapsed into the back seats of the military car parked outside, exhausted and humiliated.

"Never again." Riza swore as she ripped off her fake facial hair, grateful she didn't have to lower her voice's pitch anymore. She gently rubbed her slightly red chin with her cool hands, trying to get some relief into the abused skin.

Roy followed suit and wasted no time in immediately removing his wig, fake breasts, stockings and high heels, "Never, **_ever_** again." He agreed wholeheartedly, nodding as he searched for the suitcase he'd left on the floor that held their clothes.

Riza took off the accursed wig, letting her poorly treated blonde hair loose with a sigh of utmost relief and pleasure. She turned to Roy and held back a smile to see him wiping futilely at his make up with the tissues in the suitcase he'd packed.

"Oh, let me, Colonel." She tutted and leaned closer to hum, moving his head to face her with a firm hand.

"Thanks, Lieutenant," He muttered dejectedly as Riza smoothly and professionally removed all traces of feminine products off her Colonel's face.

The Flame Alchemist wordlessly handed her her uniform, and the two turned away from each other to slip off the remains of their costumes and wear their normal attire.

Neither worried that the other would peep, as Roy and Riza trusted each other implicitly to not do anything perverted, and any accidental glimpses wouldn't bother them- there were no secrets between the two, least of all about their bodies.

"So, Lieutenant," Roy started, slipping on his pants with a grunt, thankful for the tinted windows, "Did you see anyone acting suspicious?"

Riza paused in the middle of taking off her ridiculously tight trousers, "...No, Colonel. It's very strange. None of the actors seemed...fake, like us. I tried getting as close as I could to them all, and none of them looked red-headed, or grey eyed, like our target.. They all acted very...naturally." She removed the bottom part of her costume and quickly slipped on her military trousers, starting to efficiently take off her poofy top as well.

"I dunno." Roy let out a quiet whoop of relief as he removed all traces of his costume- the damn dress was finally off him and on the floor, and all he needed was to wear his jacket and he would be dressed immaculately, as usual, "That Raymond guy looked pretty suspicious to me..."

Riza unthinkingly let out a snort as she pulled her poofy shirt over her head, "That was because he flirted with you, dear _Victoria_."

Roy instinctively turned around to frown at her, "Do **_not _**mention tha-," He stopped, mid-sentence, eyes wide.

...He'd forgotten that Riza was bustier than she let on.....

Aforementioned poofy shirt of Riza's was thrown in her Colonel's slowly reddening face, her voice embarrassed and sharp, "Eyes front, Colonel."

Roy immediately turned to face his tinted window, cheeks burning, "Right. Right, right. Ahem. Um. Sorry, Lieutenant."

Riza quickly slid on her military top, face flushed at both his staring and her glimpse of her superior's bare chest, "It's alright, sir. An accident."

"Right. Right. Sorry."

"It's alright sir. And, um...kindly get dressed. We're reporting to the General in half an hour."

"Right. Sor-,"

_"Colonel."_

Roy decided to shut up before he repeated himself again.

* * *

Half an hour later, they stood at General Grumman's office door. Dumbfounded. Flabbergasted. Betrayed. _**LIVID.**_

It read:

Yoo-hoo! Riza-chan, Mustang-kun, how are you? I hope you enjoyed your last mission!

As it was, it actually wasn't a mission at all you see, but General Dalsan bet a very nice cottage in the countryside, saying I couldn't get you two to participate -genders switched of course- in my play, and I really couldn't resist fooling you two into helping me win it- very exquisite garden you see and I'm very sorry, but it really was for the greater good.

I bet you never noticed us in the audience, huh? Ohohohoho, you should've seen the look on his face- Mustang-kun, you look adorable in a dress, I must say, and Riza-chan, the goatee suited you to a T as Romeo!

Anyway, I'll be on vacation, so I won't be around until for a while!

Thanks for your help!

General Grumman.

...

Silence covered the hallway.

Then, in unison, the sounds of two gun's having their safety's roughly clicked off, and two gloves being snapped onto two stiff hands rang out like a death toll.

"Colonel?" There was no hesitance in the woman's steely voice, only a partner asking for the first course of action.

"General Dalsan lives in North Central." The man seemed to read her mind, lips thinned and grim.

"I'm driving."

"I'm frying."

"Agreed."

.

.

.

Grumman was very wise in hiding in the North for a month.


	39. Sly Person

Author's Note: Dialogue only this time.

* * *

"Well, that was a tough day of work, wasn't it, Lieutenant?!"

"Yes, Colonel."

"Phew, I haven't worked the old hand muscles like that in a long time!"

"...You seem unnaturally cheerful about it, sir."

"O-oh, uh, really? I...hadn't noticed."

"Hmm."

"...What's that supposed to mean?"

"What?"

"That 'hmm'."

"I didn't mean anything, sir."

"You sounded...suspicious."

"I trust you, sir."

"...oh. R-really...I...I see."

"Colonel? Is something wrong?"

"N-no. Nothing wrong. Nothing at all, Lieutenant."

"..."

"Um, say, Lieutenant..."

"Yes, sir?"

"...about that extra stack of paperwork..."

"The one I gave to you to finish during your lunch break because you had procrastinated on it the whole month?"

".....actually, er, never mind, Lieutenant."

"...Alright. Well then, I'm off, Colonel."

"Y-yeah. See you later..."

"Oh, and, Colonel?"

"Y-yes, Lieutenant?"

"Next time, hide your unfinished paperwork somewhere Hayate Bou won't find it."

"Eh?! I- that is, you- paperwork- umm..."

"I'll see you and the _finished_ paperwork tomorrow, Colonel."

"...yes, Lieutenant..."


	40. Halves

Author's Note: Prejudice is depressing. But RoyAi cheers me up! ^-^

* * *

Never before in his life has Roy Mustang, Military Dog, Flame Alchemist, Boy, Man, Person, Murderer, Pacifist, Bloodthirsty Revenge Seeker, Leader Of Renegades For Peace, He, Me, Himself, I- _nevernevernever_ has he felt the breath and fight and anxiety and grief go out of him in one large _whoosh_ that left him trembling and gasping, than when he heard Riza Hawkeye make a sound of pain and open her eyes.

Never before, never had he been so _terrified_, so _scared_ and _primal_- never, ever, **ever**.

He had been...he had almost _lost_ more than his life, more than his life, more than the _universe_- he, he had almost lost **_Riza_**.

He had almost lost his purpose and guide and partner and life and reason and comrade and soul and spark and ruler and queen and sniper and lieutenant and blond hair and amber eyes and gun shots and bullet wounds and crimson blood and sternkindlovingfirm_trembling_ voice and _he had almost lost everything_-!

He had almost lost it, had it taken away, but she was okay, she was breathing, breathing, oh, she was _breathing_ and _alive_.

So they are in the middle of a battle for their country, so she barely made it, so Roy doesn't know what will happen, who will live, who will die-

But she is in his arms, and he can feel her, he can feel her breathing and alive and he hasn't lost her and everything's fine, right now, everything's fine.

Inwardly a small part of him scoffs at those people who talk about others being their 'half'- they had no idea what they were talking about.

Roy had no half.

He had Riza.

He had a whole.


	41. Coat

Author's Note: We all love seeing Riza put Roy in his place, don't we? XD

* * *

Roy Mustang was a brave man.

In his lifetime, he had faced and overcome many dangerous threats -homunculi, terrorists, enemy troops, rebels, and their like- and they had all been tracked down, encountered, and defeated in a way similar to Julius Caesar's; easily, gracefully, and, above all, smugly.

The prevailing, unflinching alchemist had even, at the tender age of nine years, foiled his foster sisters' vile plans to dress him up in girly clothes, showing valiant courage as he came in contact with the perilous, unpredictable, homicidal-every-month species known as '_females_.'

Yes, indeed, the Flame Alchemist was a courageous man, to be respected and feared throughout Amestris and his headquarters.

He was such a man...

He was such a man...

He was such a man, and he was cowering this very second before his younger subordinate with two guns in her holsters and a blazing rage in her ochre eyes.

A thousand females may be battled or won over, but no sane man would _not_ fear an enraged Lieutenant Riza Hawkeye (except perhaps those unfortunate enough to deal with Major General Olivier Mira Armstrong on a daily basis, but even they are cautious around the woman trained by their leader.)

"Col-o-nel." The sniper spoke through gritted teeth, so angry she could only form words through harsh, terse syllables.

Roy's face drained of blood.

"...y-yes, Lieutenant?"

A large mass of black material was shoved into his arms. The Colonel gulped, not even bothering to look down, as he already knew of its bloody and torn state.

"What. Is. That." The blond demanded, not questioning, since she already knew his answer.

It was cruel beyond belief of her to expect him to answer without obtaining her wrath.

"...my...coat.....Lieutenant."

The weak reply she received seemed to have let Riza recover herself, and she glared a tad more calmly at her superior. "I am not sewing this back up, Colonel."

Roy nodded, frantic to stay on her good side and cursing himself for daring to give it to her in the first place. "Yes, Lieutenant."

A pointed look. "We're buying a new one."

Another nod. "Yes, Lieutenant."

"And you're doing your paperwork."

"Yes, Lieutenant."

"_Without_ complaints."

"...Y-yes, Lieutenant."

"Good. Get to it, then."

"Yes si- Lieutenant..."

...

..And thus, ladies and gentlemen, we learn today's lesson:

Every great man has a great(er) woman, who can make him shake in his boots, behind him.


	42. Day Off

Author's Note: Poor Roy. I felt sorry for him in this one.

* * *

It's not so bad, he tells himself the first day.

The office is empty, void of laughter and teasing and the annoying insubordination he complains so much about.

He should be happy, to have some peace and quiet.

Seclusion isn't so bad, he repeats the phrase to himself as he grabs his own paperwork and places it on his desk.

In fact, every once in a while, it's needed, he concludes his short, unheard monologue, motioning to reach towards his 1st Lieutenants desk where she would hand him his pen every morning- then, he flinches, his arm snapping back to his side as if wounded, because he remembers Breda and Havoc aren't around to steal his pens, and his Lieutenant isn't around to take them back and present them to him at the start of every day (and he wonders if the heater is on because the room suddenly feels oddly _cold_).

The first day, he futilely tries to concentrate on his paperwork, glancing up every once in a while (as if they will magically appear in front of him, with coffee and smiles and jokes and companionship).

* * *

You can deal with this, he swears to himself, on the third day.

The paperwork has piled up from his absentmindedness (he ignores the little voice in his head saying that if his Lieutenant was here she would never have let such a thing happen) and he is determined to work through it, if only to give himself less paperwork to take home (so that when he punches out, he can head over to Madame Christmas and drink himself to oblivion, wondering where it all went wrong, trying to ignore the unsettling fact that his Lieutenant will _not_ _know_ about his drinking, even though she usually does).

So he works through forms and admissions and reports and requests (and as he buries himself in a world of paper and ink, he fancies that he can their pens scratching as well as his own- and that is the only incentive he needs to not take a break).

* * *

He does not tell himself anything on the fifth day, because his Lieutenant came in on the fourth day, only she is no longer his Lieutenant (the thought stings more than it did with the others) and it has finally sunk in that they have been **separated**.

So he tries to keep his mind blank as he signs, signs, signs, signs, signs signs, signs, goes to lunch, signs, signs, signs, signs, signs, signs, signs, signs, signs...

(But a Thousand words, irrelevant to the papers, rush through his head, and his hands are trembling. Every. Single. Time.)

* * *

It is on a Sunday that the final blow arrives.

He isn't doing anything of great importance or significance, merely grocery shopping in civilian clothes (though his eyes avoid hairclips and cigarettes and sandwiches and white hair and glasses).

He doesn't remember, later, where exactly he was, only that he was in the market, perhaps near the butcher's stall, but he remembers, with frightening clarity, how he heard the familiar sounding bark of a dog and how he dropped the can in his hands and whipped around as if possessed, searching the crowd and world in vain for a glimpse of blond hair, a gleam of ochre eyes and a small, _small_ mercy of salvation from the loneliness that was slowly eating him up inside.

But there was none.

He feels the despair pressing down on him from all sides, his chest heavy and shoulders burdened, and how he yearned for a glance of something, anything, of Black Hayate and Feury and Falman and Breda and Havoc and- and- and _Riza_!

He wanted his team back, damnit!

He wanted them back, he wanted to hear their teasing and jokes and stuttering and quit tones and reprimands-

And he's tired- _tired_ and _sick _of going to an empty office with no voices or people or subordinates or subordinates who act like superiors and he has had_ enough of being lonely!!  
_  
He is ready to leave his groceries, to storm out and do something, anything (confront Bradley, punch him out, _take over the whole damned world_) to make everything right-

"Colonel?"

And he freezes, because he knows the voice of his 1st Lieutenant better than he knows his own.

* * *

On Monday, he tells himself to stop being a baby and put things into action- because those worried amber eyes are depending on him (and that makes him anything but useless).


	43. Wind

Author's Note:

SPOILERS FOR CHAPTER 102.

SERIOUSLY, DO NOT EVEN READ IF YOU HAVEN'T READ IT YET.

JUST.

DON'T.

SERIOUSLY.

I MEAN IT.

STOP READING.

NOW!!!!

.

.

.

Okay, so: I was feeling really heart broken over ch. 102, so I wanted to write out my take on it, and now that I have, I have to admit, I'm feeling better and more hopeful, and I hope that you all do too, after reading this.

This is what I think would happen if Roy doesn't get his eyesight back by the end of the manga.

* * *

It's been one year, and Roy supposes he's gotten used to being blind.

He can use his cane with adept efficiency now; an essential accomplishment that lets him feel his way around without tripping and looking like a pitiful, blind fool. Though, admittedly, there's always an odd stumble or two, every once in a while, when he's in unfamiliar territory, or uneven ground. But that can't be helped, really, and he shouldn't lose any pride over it (but it still chafes at him, when he wakes up in the middle of the night and can't get out of bed with ease).

He remembers the grieved, strained tone in Riza's voice the first time he walked into something in front of her, back when he hadn't had his cane -_some soft, hoarse words, "This way, Co- Mustang-san," followed by an even softer tug on his arm- _and the corners of his lips twitch up wryly.

Dear Riza.

Dear, almost stupidly faithful, Riza.

Though his first few months of sightlessness -_walking into things, tripping, stumbling, not being able to tell who walked into the room, having to resign from the military, learning to read brail-_ had been torture, it was his ex-Lieutenant's (he still winces at the word) constant, loyal presence through it all, that had nearly killed him.

His demeaning slips when his cane couldn't alert him of water fast enough, his shameful falters when he couldn't immediately tell who he was speaking to, his degrading falls that had him flat on the ground with a sore chest and face and _pride_- through every single mortifying incident, she had been there, smoothly steadying his stride, inconspicuously cluing him in, promptly picking him up with a firm and gentle care and hidden panic he could sense even with his lack of sight.

It had seared through his very being, with a hot, intense ache far more painful than any of his flames.

He, the former Flame Alchemist, the murderer, the 'monster', the 'terror'- it had been bad enough that he couldn't even walk out onto the street without sympathetic glances he swore he could feel on the back of his head and whispers they thought he couldn't hear ("_Serves the killer right!" "It's a mercy to us all_...") as if he was deaf as well as blind- but to have her, her, Riza Hawkeye of all people, -_who was that little girl who used to give him small, shy smiles, that innocent youth who'd lost her damned Father, that haunted woman who he'd scarred, that constant, loyal, needed person he embraced in the last few hours of his sight when he'd realised, again, he couldn't live without her_- to have her see him in that weak, useless, pitiful state, to have her know that he was now well and truly nothing...that...that had been so much more than he could take.

It had enraged him, back then, that she still stood by his side, even when he was in such a state- however, even if he had made a list of all his reasons, even now, he still couldn't say exactly why he had been so angry (_because she deserved better, because she resigned for him, because it had hurt to be near her and not see her, because her face had been starting to get foggy in his memory, because he had wanted to know why she stayed but didn't dare ask, because he'd been afraid she stayed out of pity, because he had thought he shouldn't have cared why she stayed, because if she left he'd only be able to tell by the absence of her voice, because he couldn't protect her if she was in danger, because he felt it wasn't fucking fair that he couldn't see her anymore, because he loved her but thought he wasn't worthy of her love, because it had all seemed so unfair, because he had been _afraid_)._

Overcome with anger, he'd yelled at her a few times in those horrible first months, and though she'd tried to keep calm at first, Roy knew how to press her buttons and they'd ended up shouting at each other loud enough for Hayate to give up barking and hide under the couch ("_Why am I upset? WHY AM I _UPSET_!?! WHY THE FUCK DO YOU ALWAYS FOLLOW ME AROUND LIKE SOME STUPID, LOYAL LITTLE DOG, HUH!?!?!!!!" "BECAUSE I WAS SCARED! I AM SCARED!!! JUST- JUST STOP DOING THIS!!" "OH WHAT, YOU'RE FED UP OF ME ALREADY, AREN'T YOU!?!?!" "I AM NOT FED UP- DAMNIT, STOP SHOUTING, ROY MUSTANG!!!!!"_). They'd gone on and on, those few times, until he'd heard the hitch in her voice as she pleaded with him to calm down, and, feeling disgusted at his actions, he'd let out a hoarse, strangled apology and fumblingly pulled her close, wincing inside as she let out a shaky exhale, and murmuring apologies to her, taking back foolish words, because he loved her, and he hated to hurt her, and he didn't want her to leave his side, never, ever, ever.

Roy knew that was as true and real as the ground he walked on. Even if he felt pathetic, even if he felt humiliated, even if he felt useless and couldn't see her face or do all the things for her she deserved- despite it all, he wanted her to stay with him; he _needed_ her to stay with him. Not just because she was his support or aide- but because he wanted to be with her as the days went by, he wanted to hear her voice as she laughed and talked to him, he wanted to feel her skin and hair and trace out her face with his calloused fingers every time she let him, he wanted to smell her scent in his kitchen and living room and bedroom, he wanted to hear the trace of a smile in her voice when she replied, embarrassed, to one of his compliments- he wanted all these things, because he wanted her, really.

...

It's been one year, and Roy supposes he's gotten used to being blind.

The doctor in charge of his operation tells him they'll be injecting the anesthesia now, and he can feel Riza tightly holding his hand.

She whispers a few words and Roy smiles at them; at the sound of them too, and at the feel of her exhaled breath caressing his cheeks like slightly warm, sweet wind.

He decides, as he loses consciousness, that even if something goes wrong and the operation isn't a success and he doesn't regain his sight- he decides that he'll still propose to her.


	44. Hair

Author's Note: So, am I the only one who hasn't stopped eating beef for revenge? Anyway, here's some much needed fluff to keep our spirits up. ^-^

* * *

When Roy had first stood in front of the Hawkeye estate, the weather had been icy cold and unbearably wet and horribly windy, and the large house creepy, unwelcoming and ominous.

It didn't take a genius to understand that he hadn't liked his situation, back then.

No, he hadn't liked it at all.

* * *

Roy gulped, quietly wondering if he could ever summon the nerve to knock on the large, looming door in front of him, pondering on how wet he'd get if he waited there until someone came out and he wouldn't need to make his presence known, feeling every bit of his insufficient 12 years.

His eyes roved the house and its windows, procrastinating as he tried to hold off the inevitable- and then, he abruptly noticed a curtain in the house's upper left window undeniably _move_.

His head shot up, curiosity and weariness battling for dominance inside him as he stared.

His dark, cave like eyes met lighter, earthy ones, for all of one heart stopping second.

It was in that second, that one, small, stunning second that Roy Mustang had first lain eyes on Riza Hawkeye.

* * *

To this day, he could still remember, vividly, the unforgiving rain drops falling on every inch of him, his soaked black hair sticking onto his forehead, his shoes uncomfortably flooded with water-

The small, modest face untainted by make up or cream as he was used to, the startled, cautious, curious eyes, the cute, upturned nose, the reddening, adorable ears-

And her hair.

Roy had been convinced, as the mauve curtain swished back with disappointing, impressive speed, that that girl's hair had been his first real glimpse of the precious element called gold.

* * *

After standing out in the rain and staring at that upper left window a bit more, unconsciously waiting and hoping to see more of this -_heaven_- stranger, Roy belatedly realised that the girl he had seen probably lived in his future sensei's house.

Hmm.

His future sensei's house...

A few seconds of revelation had passed, and then Roy hadn't minded knocking on that abruptly welcoming door, or entering that suddenly captivating house.

He hadn't minded at all.

* * *

_(And a corner of his mind, oppressed and ignored, had wondered what those strands of gold would feel like, between his fingers.)_


	45. Awakening

Author's Note: I loved writing this one.

* * *

Today is an easy, comfortable day, you think in the back of your head, as your eyes scan eagerly, greedily through pages of knowledge and secrets and methods and power –_alchemy is restricted only to practices using the rule of equivalent exchange_-

The kind of day when even stiff Hawkeye-sensei is just a bit lax in reviews and work- _taboos among alchemy include human transmutation, turning lead into gold and- _when your room is warm, but not irritably so, perfect for falling into an almost trance as you study- _dangerous, forbidden, no alchemist may ever-_

(It's as if you're asleep as you read and understand and memorise, and those small, insignificant thoughts about heat and summer and leisure are the only part of you still alive and conscious; the part of you that's still thinking and just biding your time until you wake up.)

Then the door opens and Riza's amber eyes peak out, jolting you away from the land of paper and ink and insignificant thoughts.

"Mustang-san..."

Your mouth motions to make a smile, and suddenly you want to just get up and grab her in a dizzying, carefree spin around the room, lean her down and-

"Dinner is ready."

Of course, her few, ever-formal words destroy that fantasy before you can even entertain the thought of carrying it out.

That's to be expected though- because she _is_ Riza Hawkeye, after all; overlooked and beautiful, and humble and proud- and the only thing in the world that can take your attention away from your addiction.

You give a more obvious glance up for her benefit, uncut black hair falling into your dark eyes, the lead pencil you use to take notes slowly being batted up and down by your pale hand.

"Hai, Riza."

The pleasure you take in being the only one allowed (well, tolerated) to use her first name with no suffixes, is more than it should be.

Because you know this, when the door makes a motion to close, you glance down at where you left off, starting to read again, crushing down small hints of disappointment...

But then there is no sound of the door closing, and when an almost-_almost_ laugh reaches your ears, you realize that she is waiting for you to say more.

You look up and meet her earthy, heavenly eyes across the room, giving a slightly sheepish, but glad, warm smile.

"I'll be down in a few minutes."

You think you catch the corners of her lips twitch up, for a moment, but she nods and disappears too quickly for you to be sure.

"It would be good if you came down before the end of the day, Mustang-san." Her words are unusually teasing, and you smile to yourself, feeling...thankful.

The door finally, softly closes.

You lean back, slowly and unhurriedly stretching your arms behind your head, groaning as your abused muscled stretch and begin to relax.

Out of the corner of your eyes, you catch your name, Roy Mustang, neatly written on the covers of your newest alchemy books, and an idle smirk climbs up your mouth.

You bring your arms back to your sides, and slowly stand up, still leaning slightly to the side as you look down at your desk, your chair, your books and your papers and the paperweights Riza gave you on each of your birthdays in the household- you turn your head to the side and view your bed, your wardrobe, your room...

You know that if you close your eyes for a moment, and try hard enough, you can hear the crickets chirping outside and a certain blonde girl's delicate footsteps as she heads downstairs.

Your smirk softens into a smile.

You know it shouldn't, but it feels like home.


	46. Sleepless Night

Author's Note: *holds up shield* I'm so sorry I'm late!! Time just...slipped away from me!!

* * *

Sometimes, he doesn't understand her.

He usually does- he prides himself on being able to understand her mood with a single glance at her hair,

_(She ties it very tight when she's upset, you see.)_

Or talk to her, easily, with his eyes.

_(At times, the slight widening of her iris can mean the world.)_

Or list every single one of her favourite foods, drinks, places, sayings and past-times off the top of his head.

_(She's unexpectedly fond of rosemary tea with a dash of honey.)_

He usually understands his aide very, very well, because...well, they've been together for a _long_ time.

So, of course, he gets upset when he doesn't understand her.

_(It's like the moon turning neon green and scaring the human population half to death with rumours of the apocalypse.)_

-

It's not that he doesn't understand _her_: the way she is, the way she acts, why she does the things she does...

He understands all of that (_more than he wants to_).

But what he doesn't understand, what plagues him, what keeps him up on some nights...

Why him?

Why give up her father's secret, why join the military, why kill thousands of people, why support him every single step of the way...all only...for him?

Why him?

_What_ was so special about him, Roy Mustang? What- what part of him was so...so great in her eyes, that she had to make herself suffer so much, that she never, ever, even for a second (_or so he hoped_)thought of abandoning him?

What made her go to all these lengths for a mere murderer, a piece of trash who couldn't keep his promises, a stupid man who only messed things up and made everything so much harder for his supporters?

He doesn't understand it; and not understanding which part it was, which part of him he should never, ever change or let go of, so that she always thought of him as special, always followed him....

Not understanding **terrifies** him.

What if...what if, one day, that characteristic she thought so much of, what if one day it disappeared?

What if she no longer liked whatever part of him that she liked?

What if she no longer thought he was worth it?

What if she got fed up?

What if...

What if...

He keeps himself up on thoughtful nights, those two words running around his head, laughing with gleeful cruelty, shaking and breaking, attacking his oh so carefully guarded and hidden, secret fears and dreams.

_What if she left him?_

He takes a sharp, piercing breath, turns over in his bed, refuses to think of the matter anymore, refuses to even admit he thought of it, because he will not dwell on it, cannot dwell on it, that small sentence will **break him** if he dwells on it.

And so he closes his eyes, he blocks his mind and thoughts and fears, and his alarm clock rings beside him.

It's been another sleepless night of not understanding, and he's not any closer to breaking the puzzle.

(_Because man fears what he does not understand- and so he fears the one who loves him in return, most of all.)_


	47. In the Dead of the Night

Author's Note: I'M _ALIVE_ !!!!!!!!!! :D HahaHA! Finally!!!

And, look, it totally wasn't my fault this one came so late- I had this written _weeks_ ago but my landline went cuckoo and I lost my internet connection so I had to use wireless which has the most ACCURSED, ANNOYING content lock THAT REFUSES TO OPEN TO ANYONE'S CREDIT CARD DETAILS, LET ALONE MINE!!!

So, ahem, yes. Blame BT Broadband and T-mobile. And enjoy this one! Maybe even drop a review- I've missed all of you guys!!!!

* * *

**_B O O M ! ! ! !_**

The resounding crack of thunder echoed across the night's usual silence, sharp as a knife, disturbing people and animals alike as it blared across the countryside.

In a certain part of said countryside, an old and worn down house sat abandoned on a grimy street; inside, one grumpy, awake alchemist-in-training was perhaps the most agitated of the areas inhabitants.

That blasted storm's racket had jolted Roy awake for the fifth time that night, _just_ as he'd finally started to relax and close his eyes.

The youth glared darkly in the direction of his rain pelted window, wishing, for a wild and sleep deprived moment, that Mother Nature's wrath was in human form so he could punch it out for completely ruining his night.

The ruckus had started sometime around 10pm, startling Roy in the middle of some late studying for another one of Hawkeye-sensei's tests. Three hours later, it still hadn't subsided, and was seriously interfering with his handsome sleep.

Roy didn't call it beauty sleep, because girls were beautiful, while he was handsome. Though that'd cause some confusion and occasional snickers if it was ever find out, so perhaps he should still call it beauty sleep inside his head to avoid ever saying handsome sleep out lou- wait, why was he debating this in the middle of the night? Why was he talki- _thinking_ to himself in the first place? Had the studying finally affected his brai-?

**_B O O M ! ! !_**

The student groaned and slinked further into his bed, pulling the covers and pillow despairingly over his head.

Roy hated thunderstorms, solely for their constant racket.

_(He was so young at the time: how could he have known that, many, many years later, he would hate the sound of thunderstorms for a different reason entirely?)_

He had to hand it to his Sensei- the man was performing a miracle all on his own to be able to possibly keep sleeping through the noise.

Though Roy also knew that there was a large chance the semi-famous alchemist wasn't sleeping; it was possible that he was still in his office, scribbling his barely legible words onto his overused ledgers like a man possessed by the demons of hell itself. Sensei had certainly looked like it whenever Roy caught a glimpse of his occasional midnight inspirations- the man's waxy skin would be paler than usual and clammy with sweat, his earth toned eyes wide and bloodshot, so similar but so, so (_horribly_) different from Riza's...it struck a part of Roy sometimes, seeing Hawkeye-sensei so visibly worn down and haunted like that.

If he was a normal boy, he would have been scared stiff: of his teacher, alchemy and the affects the thing had on the man.

But Roy was not normal; it was precisely for that reason that he was there, miles away from the place he was raised and his family.

He should have been scared and treaded carefully, like Riza and her weary glances (_Should have, could have, but _wouldhehave_, even if he'd known it all?_), but he was different... Roy was intrigued.

He wanted to learn more about alchemy, even (or maybe _especially_) when he saw his teacher like that. He wanted to learn and see and know, just _what it was_, that addictive, powerful feeling after every transmutation, that ran through the veins like a wildfire in a lush forest_, (slivering everywhere, wrapping and choking, **strangling** you until you give in and burn like those falling trees, burn without stopping to think or breath or _understand_ what the hell you're doing- burn, burn, _**burn**_ until nothing's left but the **ashes**.)_

It was a strange trait of Roy's, this illogical, almost crazed curiosity for such a dangerous art- but, in the end, it was what had made Hawkeye-sensei accept him out of all other taller, older, wiser applicants.

(_Because when Bartholomew Hawkeye had looked that younger Roy in the eyes, he'd seen _**it**_ there and he'd _known_- though he never admitted it until his last moments, he'd known, sneaky old Bartholomew, he'd known-_)

Roy never did quite understand (_not then, at least_) why his abnormality had been so important to his sensei, but it gave him the chance to learn and for that he was grateful.

(_The moment the man had seen ferociously burning flames in those innocent, black eyes, he'd known who his successor was._)

"M-Mustang-san...?"

**_B O O M ! !_**

Roy eyes opened wide as he jolted out of his half-conscious musings, starting out of his barricade of sheets and the old pillow.

There in his doorway, with her lovely face upset and her slender, shaken frame covered in a flimsy white nightgown, stood Riza Hawkeye.

If Roy had been fully conscious and in control, he would have decently kept his eyes on the walls like his foster Mother had taught him to in such situations; but he was sleepy, ill-prepared and so very not in control of the way his heart started to speed up after a sudden, almost painful _hitch_.

"...Riza?" His voice, confused and hoarse from little use in the past hours, seemed to bring motion back into the world.

**_B O O M ! ! ! ! _**

The girl in front of him didn't even flinch at the sound of thunder, which he found slightly abnormal after seeing so many of his sisters' react with screams and cringes to the tempests he so loathed- but then again: Roy wasn't normal, and in a way, neither was Riza.

"I...how to say this, I..." Riza abruptly seemed embarrassed, staring fixedly at the floor and avoiding this gaze, her face almost taking on a reddish tint.

Roy leaned further forwards, not feeling, for some reason, courageous enough to get up and go to her side, "You...?" He encouraged.

"I...I had a..." She murmured, looking for the right words, her gaze focused on the door's lower corner. "...Nightmare."

Roy blinked.

If the situation were different, he might have smiled. He'd forgotten that, despite not being particularly normal, Riza was still human, with a human's weaknesses. Of course, she was a girl as well, but Roy wasn't sexist; he'd had nightmares that had left him afraid to stay alone in his room, too. Riza was just always so...quiet and unbothered by things that he had never thought to apply the same irrational fear to her.

"...Are you... okay?" He didn't know why he was being so careful with the words he used, or the reason he didn't dare lift his voice more than strictly necessary.

Through the dim lighting, he noticed Riza glancing up at him for a second before quickly looking back down, making Roy feel slightly ridiculous that they were _both_ acting like shy newlyweds on their wedding ni- his imagination was definitely getting away from him, and that wasn't good for his pale complexion.

"I...yes. I just..." She glanced up again-

**_B O O M ! ! ! ! !_**

Lightening illuminated the room brilliantly in one moment, and Riza stilled, her ochre eyes widening with alarm as she stared at Roy, "Mustang-san, do you have a fever?"

He looked up to meet her gaze, a mild feeling of panic rising, "Eh?"

Before he could even think about protesting, Riza crossed the now darkened room with sudden purpose, still in that tormenting nightgown, set on closing the distance between them.

Roy's black orbs grew wide, and he couldn't pull back before she placed a hand on his forehead, kneeling in front of his bed, her face very close, _too close_ to his own.

"You look red..." She muttered, intensely staring at him, her sharp eyes searching for any other signs of sickness.

Roy's face was slowly turning a bright scarlet, and he swore he could feel his heart trying to ram its way out of his chest.

The situation was clear: _too close, too close, must escape, abort, abort-!!_

The apprentice's flustered expression made Riza pause and check herself; she speedily moved back and knelt down properly, her hands hastily clasped in her lap and neck dusted with pink.

**_B O O M ! !_**

"...I'm sorry. It wasn't my place to check..." She murmured as Roy slowly remembered how to breathe, "I hope I didn't make you uncomfortable, Mustang-san."

Roy didn't let himself have any thoughts, and picked his words very, very carefully; in the state he was in, he didn't trust himself as far as he could throw Riza- and he would never _throw_ _Riza_ any length, even if he was given all the secrets of alchemy.

"No, um..." He coughed, the red slowly lessening, "It...wasn't- I mean, it's okay." One of his hands made its way to the back of his head, a nervous gesture as he attempted a grin, "I think I probably overdid the studying for Teacher's test tomorrow so..."

His teacher's daughter was able to look him in the eye again, and lightly frowned, "You shouldn't push yourself too much."

"Haha, I know." A part of Roy felt needlessly pleased for her worry, "I just...well, you know, I want to...pass his tests, I guess." He tried to explain the pressure he felt whenever Hawkeye-sensei put those sharp, unforgiving eyes on him, "After letting me live here and teaching me... I don't...want to disappoint him."

Riza's eyes seemed to darken for a moment, even in the dim lighting, "No one...wants to disappoint Father."

Roy didn't know why, but something in him made him instinctively ashamed of meeting her eyes, "Mmm."

"Mustang-san..." She looked up at him, her normally unwavering and soothing voice seeming so terribly tired and beaten up all of a sudden, "I don't...want to see that...that nightmare again. If...you're awake...I mean...can I stay here, please?"

Their eyes met, and Roy knew he couldn't possibly refuse her.

"...Okay."

* * *

They spent that night staying awake, talking about everything that came to their minds while not really saying anything much at all; Riza eventually progressed from the floor, to the edge of the bed, to the other end of the bed, until she and Roy were practically face to face as they made gestures in the middle of old stories, smiled, raised eyebrows, made faces at joking replies, laughed and felt their sleepiness fade away like an old memory.

The storm subsided sometime in their long conversation, possibly around the time Roy recited the entire periodic table and its extra details from memory and Riza gave him a rare, impressed look, though neither of them noticed if it indeed had.

_It_ happened sometime around 5am, when Riza finished the tale of an old bookseller her Father had brought over on the Thursdays in her childhood, and how his wooden leg and pet lizard had made her younger self convinced he was a pirate. She and Roy had been in the stews of laughter over her secret adventure of looking through his hoard of books for treasure maps- when they somehow ended up leaning over each other, the laughter quieting, then disappearing altogether.

Perhaps it was the sleep deprivation, or the influence of early morning, or that crazy adrenaline you get running through your veins when you share all those little, precious memories with someone important to you- but whatever it was, they both ended up sleeping against the wall by his bed, half covered in quilts, Riza's head on Roy's shoulder and his arm loosely wrapped around her.

They were young, it was comfortable and safe (_and simply f__elt right_).

Roy's last thought, when he caught a glimpse of the blurred sunset outside his window, golden strands of Riza's hair slightly obstructing his view:

_...sky's....on fire... _


	48. Side of Face

Author's Note: Okay, so, apparently, after I write a long theme I am unable to write another longer one before writing a short one. =shrugs= Go figure. Anyway, I do apologise for the shortness but, uh, well, =coughs= to be perfectly honest, I rushed it to make it in time for a friend's birthday so I could give her some kinda gift. =sweatdrops= Ahahahaha- _shhh, don't tell anyone._

* * *

One could tell many things about Roy Mustang's mood by glancing at his expression.

For example, his left eyebrow came down lower than his right one when he narrowed his eyes in anger or worry.

_("...what's wrong?")_

When he smiled and showed some of his teeth, he was faking bravado.

_("I'll return, just wait for me here.")_

When he grinned with all his teeth, he was happier than he'd been in a while.

_("At this point, I'm even happy to hear your insubordinate yapping!!")_

When he shouted and his eyes weren't narrowed, he had stopped thinking rationally.

_("**LIEUTENANT, HANG IN THERE!!**")_

When he closed his eyes, he was trying to hide how he was really feeling.

_("I'll have to be careful when I walk outside. After all, my well-armed aide will be gone.")_

When his lips curved up slightly, he was feeling a child-like happiness.

_("Don't go saying 'I should have run away instead', later 1st lieutenant!")_

And when his eyes focused on you no matter how he moved, you were the only thing occupying his mind.

_("What will you do from now on?")_

One could tell many things from Roy Mustang's expression...

That is, _one_ Riza Hawkeye.

* * *

_"We've been together for a long time, after all."_


	49. Cold Hands

Author's Note: Right, so I'm kinda-sorta banned from using the internet frequently (I did absolutely nothing wrong, it's just my Mom being overprotective), so I'm afraid, dear readers, that themes will have to come in chunks of chapters now. ^^;; Hope ya'll don't mind, and do keep reviewing! It keeps my spirits up.

Also, Hi Vikki~~~! Hope you're well! Sadly, I am banned from DA and FB so please get in touch with me via PM or my btinternet e-mail address.

Also guys- forgive me for this theme being slightly awkward, I was getting into my groove again. So, yeah, hopefully the next theme'll be better.

* * *

The office was silent. Deadly silent.

Mustang's men didn't know why, or how, but when they entered their workspace that Wednesday morning, it had resembled a fully intact warzone, with Mustang and Hawkeye sending each other auras of absolute death.

As the two worked in total, lethal silence, Feury, Falman, Havoc and Breda prayed to the heavens that the dangerous pair would keep on not acknowledging each other so they could make it out of work alive.

(Their workspace tended to be lethal for their health when the two were angry with each other.)

For a moment, Mustang's hand strayed from his pen and Havoc almost swallowed his cigar. The Flame Alchemist's terrifying fingers simply brushed aside a lock of his pitch black hair and returned to their former position. Havoc didn't even dare to let out a sigh of relief.

Breda wearily eyed Black Hayate as he hid under Hawkeye's desk, trembling at the way his Mistress moved so stiffly, the sounds of papers crinkling under her hands similar to the cracks of tiny bones.

Falman's forehead was almost drowning in cold sweat when his sleeve brushed against a stray pen on his desk, the slight force causing it to start rolling. All three grown men stared in mute horror as Falman tried to stop it, reached for it-

Missed.

As the pen rolled over the desk's side, Feury gave a muffled whimper of pure fear.

_Thunk_

The noise echoed across the battlefield.

Mustang and Hawkeye looked up at the same time, and their subordinates felt their hearts skip several beats.

"Was that your pen, Hawkeye?" Colonel Mustang's tone was sharp and clipped.

"No." The coldness in 1st Lieutenant Hawkeye's voice could rival Brigg's blizzards. "Perhaps it was yours, Colonel?"

"I have mine right here in my hand. _Signing_ _paperwork_."

"That is your _job_, after all."

"Haha, you would know, wouldn't you? What with you being so _loyal_ to your job and all."

"And what of it- sir?" Hawkeye's tone was bordering on disrespectful.

"Oh nothing, nothing." Mustang didn't look away from his staring match, adding with a tad of venom, "I just didn't know you were so _dedicated_ to the military. I mean, sniping by General Armstrong's side isn't a task all people are willing to do."

"I already told you, Colonel," Hawkeye said tersely, "General Grumman signed me up for it. I didn't volunteer."

Mustang went on, heedless of her words. "And staying for a whole month too! I mean, I didn't know you were so very _cosy_ in the North, Hawkeye. Much better than little ol' Central, I'm sure."

"I don't know what you're trying to imply Colonel. It's just a few weeks."

"Oh, so you _want_ to go?"

"I said no such thing."

Mustang slammed his pen down on his desk, standing up with a huff, "You didn't need to! It's quite obvious you're sick of working here!"

Hawkeye stood up as well, glaring, "_You_ are the one who's jumping to conclusions in the middle of their _tantrum_!!"

"**_Tantrum_**?!!" Mustang was outraged.

"_Yes_, 'tantrum'!! You've been putting on a really petty display by _sulking_ all morning!!!"

"As if _you_ weren't **_huffy_**!!! What, is it that time of the month, Lieutenant?!!"

"I'd thank you to not stoop so low as to insult me, Colonel!!"

"I'M THE ONE WHO'S BEING INSULTED HERE!!"

"WILL YOU STOP ASSUMING EVERYTHING?!!?"

"WEREN'T _YOU_ THE ONE WHO SAID YOU'D FOLLOW ME TO HELL IF I ASKED?!"

"I'M NOT RETRACTING THAT STATEMENT BY GOING TO BRIGGS FOR A FEW WEEKS!!"

"YOU WOMEN AREN'T TO BE TRUSTED!!"

"THAT'S REALLY RICH COMING FROM YOU!!!!"

"I DEMAND TO KNOW WHY YOU'RE GOING!!!"

"I _ALREADY TOLD YOU_ THAT GRANDFATHER SIGNED ME UP!!!!"

"AS IF GRUMMAN WOULD DO SOMETHING LIKE THAT ON A WHIM!!! TELL ME THE TRUTH RIGHT NOW, OR _SO HELP ME_ **RIZA** **HAWKEYE** I'LL-!!!!"

"YOU'LL _WHAT_, **ROY** **MUSTANG**?!"

"Yo, Roy I-," Maes Hughes stopped in the office's doorway, utter silence and stillness following his sudden intrusion into the battlefield.

The Lieutenant Colonel's green eyes slowly moved from one end of the room to the other, taking in Mustang and Hawkeye in their breathless rage, hands slammed down on their desks and eyes glaring flames and bullets at each other, as well as the quivering, terrified soldier quartet and mutt huddled in a corner.

"Have I...come at a bad time?"

Mustang and Hawkeye spoke, sharply, at the same time.

"Yes."

"No."

They resumed glaring at each other with renewed force, and Maes' sweat dropped.

"I can hear Maes later. Tell me why you were signed up."

"Lt. Colonel Hughes probably has something important to say. And my answer hasn't changed. I had nothing to do with it, Colonel."

Mustang's eyebrow twitched, and he probably would have started shouting again if there hadn't been a (that they were aware of) witness to the disagreement.

"1st Lieutenant Hawkeye, I sincerely doubt that General Grumman signed you up without motivation from _some_ source."

"I told you-,"

"Oh, are you two talking about Briggs taking some of our snipers this month?" Maes interjected cheerfully, "I forgot to mention, sorry Roy, I recommended Lieutenant Hawkeye to General Grumman for that. Haha, sorry I didn't ask you first, but y'know, I didn't think it'd do...any....harm...?"

The Lt. Colonel's merry notification ended on a hesitant note as his two dangerous friends turned their heads very, very slowly to stare at him.

""**_You_** **_what_**."" They were not asking a question.

"I...uhhh," Hughes put his hand to the back of his neck, starting to sweat, "I recommended Hawkeye to Grumman...without asking......sorry."

""...""

"Hughes."

"Yeah, Roy?"

"If you don't get out of here, _right_ _now_, Elicia is going to have a father resembling **_fried Swiss_** **_Cheese_**."

* * *

Omake:

"Lieutenant, I...um.....well..."

"I understand, Colonel. It's alright. I apologise too."

"So, the plans to make Hughes suffer are still on?"

"Had you any doubt, sir?"


	50. Fingertips

Author's Note: And here's the other half of that chunk. Slightly shorter, sadly, but what can you do?

* * *

Roy and Riza weren't the most affectionate couple around.

Though you had to admit they had a tough competition- what with Ed always keeping a possessive hand on Winry's waist, Ling dotingly calling Ran Fan his 'blushing desert rose' and Al's bordering on audacious flirting with Mei, it wasn't surprising they were last in the Public Displays of Affection department. Not to mention the fact that they weren't very fuzzy wuzzy, mushy, cuddly people in the first place.

Because:

While Ling brought out his smooches and love poems, Roy was having trouble getting the courage for a good night hug, let alone kiss, fumbling his words outside her apartment door, not daring to voice the thought that he'd like it if she stayed over at his place for once.

While Ran Fan blushed scarlet, Riza's cheeks might have been stained with the lightest shade of pink, her ears softer than the silkiest velvet and expression nothing if not loving.

When Al was smirking with such cheeky adoration, Roy's smile was downplayed, quiet and so very, very reminding of times filled with "Riza" and "Mr Mustang".

When Mei sung praises from Eastern edge of the world to the Western and back again, Riza wryly commented that Roy's good qualities were also his faults- naivety, recklessness, hot headed revenge for his loved ones, caring far too much for the safety of a pawn when he should be looking on how to protect the king.

Where Ed easily put an arm around Winry, Roy found himself awkward with the expected physical affection, unable to do it casually- his first hug with Riza was, after all, in a situation of almost dire consequences and when he was under the influence of adrenaline running recklessly through his terrified veins.

Where Winry baked apple pies, Riza made tea and sat Roy down in the living room, sometimes talking, sometimes not, always together and soaking in one another's beautiful, wonderful presence.

Yes, indeed, Roy and Riza certainly weren't the most affectionate couple around. There were no passionate kisses in front of crowds, no sonnets of amour in the middle of the night, no flirtatious footsy under military desks...

But there was Roy, there was Riza, and there was love.

And in that respect, they were all winners.


	51. Embracing From the Back

Author's Note: Here's the next theme! Thanks for all your reviews everyone, they really keep me going!!! Apologies as this is pretty short and dialogue only, but I hope you'll all enjoy it nonethless! :)

* * *

"C-Colonel?"

"Yeah. It's me."

"...Wh-what are you doing, sir?"

"Something special. I've wanted to do it for awhile now, but the office just wouldn't become empty....oh, and I love you, by the way."

_/silence/_

"...you...I...._what_??"

"I already knew I did, really, but it hit me really hard this morning. Wanted to tell you all day....and your hair smells nice, Riza."

_/blush/_

"I......I.....you.....um...."

/_chuckle_/ "You've always been so cute when you were flustered."

"You...you be quiet, Roy Mustang! Di...you...I....don't tell people you...you _love_ _them_ so **casually**!!"

"Why not? I do love you. Lots. I think my heart is about to ram its way out of my chest any minute now."

"......I know......I can hear it...."

"Heh, really? Wow, that's....kinda embarrassing.....but it's nice, in a way too.......so, Riza, do you love me?"

_/resigned sigh/_

"Do you really need to ask, sir?"

* * *

Omake:

"L-l-look, you f-finally confessed to the Lieutenant, Colonel!! Sh-shouldn't you be thanking us?!"

"For slipping me a _truth potion, _Havoc?!?!?! You should thank God everything turned out well!!! I've never embarrassed myself so much in my entire LIFE!!!! And in front of Riz- Lieutenant Hawkeye, of all people!!!"

"Haven't you ever heard of not questioning the way a relationship develops??!!?"

"Ohhh, I _knew_ we shouldn't have interfered..!"

"Please, Colonel, I've got parents' to write letters to!!"

"**_I AM GOING TO FLAMBAE YOU INSUBORDINATE NOSY PARKERS ALL THE WAY TO KINGDOM COME!!!!!!_**"


	52. Hairclip

Author's Note: GAH, sorry this is so late guys, I was banned from the internet for a while...but now I'm unbanned! Yay! XD

And also, reviewer whose name I've forgotten (I'm so sorry, I don't have time to check ^^;;) no, no don't worry, I'm not mad at all- in fact I agree with you, my other themes are better, and am glad you were honest with me! :)

* * *

It's been a few months since they visited some kids in Resembool, and he glances at her to say something -ask a question maybe, he doesn't know, he can barely remember even turning around- when he suddenly realises that the short, boyish haircut she's always (_no, not always, a voice hisses in his mind, but he ignores it) _worn is now gone.

Riza Hawkeye's hair is longer, and, for some reason he would rather be shot at than explain, Roy finds it physically impossible to turn away (_it was his sensei's house all over again, with her bare back and inked skin, all beautiful and horrifying, a picture of perfection marred by deep, scarlet red; he suddenly realised Riza was a girl, woman, friend, _family_ and she'd been _used like paper_-)_

"Colonel?"

Roy snaps his head sideways and the hallucination fades away.

"...It's nothing, Lieutenant. Nothing that matters, anyway."

_(He's lying.)_

* * *

It's been seven months since he saw a child trapped in armour –the longer he lives, the worse his nightmares get- and she runs in front of him to clear his way, guns blazing, hair whipping around like the stuff angels are made of and, for a moment, his mind turns blank in the middle of an operation.

_(Her hair had always caught his attention back then: long and loose and golden as it caressed the quiet girl's pretty face, and there, where it passed her shoulders, just a bit, curling slightly- it was far more subtle and precious than any of his sisters could ever manage. _

_And Roy knew the word 'beautiful' and where it applied, and Riza knew the word 'mother' and treasured any remnants, but then-)_

Gunshots strike out and there is no time for memories when she is in shooting range-

"Lieutenant, fall back!"

_(But then, years later, why was all her hair chopped off?)_

"Fall back **NOW!**"

* * *

It's been a year or so since he saw a bloodstained floor and Edward Elric is now a state alchemist –should he or should he not be feeling guilty about that?- when Roy looks at his 1st Lieutenant and her image shifts, changes and turns into a gentle little girl with kind smiles and soft, earthy eyes.

(_Goodbyes were never his thing, and perhaps she somehow knew that, since they sat in the living room with silence coating them for a full ten minutes before he spoke._

_"...Will you miss me?" He asked, not even sure why he did. It wasn't like they were best friends or anything, but he somehow still wanted her to answer him and say-_

_"...Yes, Mustang-san. I'll miss you very much." Her reply was honest, and in the seconds following it, Roy saw -almost relived- the past several years of rare, quiet conversations, cheerful weekly grocery trips, occasional huffy quarrels, surprising birthday presents and that small but beautiful world of Riza and Roy with even, maybe, just a little bit of Sensei's better moments._

_"...I'll miss you too." He meant it -it wasn't just a courtesy- and because Riza knew that, she smiled._

_Silence fell again._

_-He really wasn't any good at goodbyes-_

_"...You better not keep your mother waiting for too long."She mumbled, glancing up at him._

_He looked down at the familiar patterned carpet, feeling almost reluctant. "...Yeah."_

_Right on cue, there was an impatient knock at the door, signalling that he better hurry up, and before Roy even knew what he was saying, he hurriedly blurt out, instead of a goodbye: "See you later, Riza!"_

_She looked up at him, surprised, and his face was in danger of turning scarlet at his slip up until she nodded, a small smile on her lips._

_"See you later...Roy.")_

For a moment, Roy's reverie is in danger of breaking with as loud and lethal a snap as any of his flames, because the envisioned child in place of his Lieutenant is suddenly gone and a young woman is back -long time no see- with darker and harder eyes, a smile too rare for anyone but him to notice, short fair hair and her back, oh God...

_(When the years passed and he came back all her beautiful long hair was gone, and he didn't understand the reason _untilhe saw what her father carved on her back)

"1st Lieutenant."

She looks in surprise at the hairclip he offers in his hands.

(_He remembers feeling the tiniest, guiltiest, most sickening relief that Sensei had cut her hair short. If he didn't see those golden strands curling and scorching with heat, then he could try and pretend he wasn't burning her, despite the sight and the smell and the _muffledwhimpers.)

"I've noticed your hair getting in your way every now and then, so...here."

(_He's going to go crazy if he keeps remembering what happened to the back that she trusted him with._)

"Oh." The look in her eyes shows that she knows there's more to it, but won't push him, "...Thankyou, Colonel."

He smiles as she pins up her hair; his face is soft and wry and just the tiniest bit desperate.

"...looks good."

_(Because her hair could be short, her back could be scarred and her hands could be stained, but _she's still Riza Hawkeye_.)_

Hawkeye glances at the flame alchemist, concerned at his odd mood, and makes a motion as if to place her hand on his arm- but thinks better of it when she catches their co-workers watching them from the corners of their eyes.

_(She's still kind, brave, loyal and _so much more than he deserves_.)_

"Colonel," She mutters with her lips barely moving, "Are you alright?"

_(He _knows _he doesn't deserve her, and that's why he's terrified, every minute of every day, that any second now, she could change her mind and-) _

"...Yeah. Just a bit out of it, I guess." He gives her another smile, tinged with melancholy, "Sorry for worrying you."

_(-he doesn't want to think about a world without her.)_


	53. Sigh

Author's Note:

...Okay, to be perfectly, 100% honest? I COULD NOT STOP MYSELF. There. That is all.

* * *

Roy Mustang leaned back, sighing with deep content even as his old leather chair groaned in complaint at his weight.

His Friday had been absolutely _perfect_.

All of his paperwork due till next Wednesday was finished, he was winning against Breda in chess 7-5, Feury was walking on air after pooling with his girlfriend to buy some new hardware, meaning that all technical equipment in the office was working beyond brilliantly, Havoc and Rebecca's kid was making the ex-smoker hilariously panicky with his habits of climbing trees, Falman described the postcards from Ed and Winry three times in a row without complaining and, best of all, if Roy's internal clock wasn't wrong, Riza and Chris would be coming back from their pre-school field trip just about...

He heard their muffled footsteps even before the door opened with a presiding creak.

"Roy, we're back."

"Daddy!"

Roy smiled as he heard small, hurried footsteps coming his way.

He held his arms open for his daughter to jump into and barely let out an 'oof!' when the four year old all but suffocated him in her eagerness to lavish him with affection. His pianist fingers ran through her shoulder-length hair, and the usual pang of regret that he couldn't see its golden hue hit Roy a little less hard than usual; Chris's voice was too happy, too beautiful, as she jabbered on about tiger cubs and classmates and how much she missed him and small, insignificant things that meant the world.

"Chris-chan, don't squash daddy." He heard Riza's calm footsteps as she made her way to his desk, felt her familiar callused hand slip into his for one moment, tighten, and then let go.

She had missed him too, and Roy's smile threatened to turn into a grin at the fact.

"I'm not squashing daddy!" He felt Chris turn her head, probably to give her mother a protesting look, "Mommy's too serious."

Roy didn't need his sight to know that Riza rolled her eyes, "When it comes to hugs, I'm afraid you're taking after your father too much..." He felt her send a small, slightly teasing smile in his direction, "What was it that Mei said? 'Keep hugging that tight and the wounds will reopen.'?"

Roy coughed, red creeping up his neck at the reminder of their past, and Chris turned towards him with a sort of horrified panic, "Daddy's got wounds?"

"No, no, daddy's fine Chris." Roy turned his head towards her voice, surprised at her high vocabulary- and for a moment, a pang of wanting to see his child's worried eyes hit him badly. To see those dark eyes, that everyone said were the same shade as his used to be...to see his eyes in that little face with Riza's features...

The father of one pushed aside the sudden ache, concentrating on the now and the sounds and he wished Chris would smile again so he could hear her happy voice.

"You know the word 'wounded'?" He asked, forcing some light heartedness into his tone.

He heard Riza shifting next to him, probably running her fingers over the piles of Braille and checking his paperwork, when her free hand suddenly became a comforting weight on his shoulder; Roy wryly noted to himself that she still knew how to read his moods.

"Of course!" Chris piped up, indignant, "Mrs Fujioka says I'm the smartest girl she's ever seen!"

"Is that so?" Roy grinned, "Good girl. Why don't you tell daddy some of your new words then, miss smarty pants?"

"Hah! Easy!"

Riza's hand stilled.

"Roy, maybe you shou-,"

"I learned the words gracious and establishment and inflate and gallery and organization and bonfire and...umm.." the child's voice faltered as she came near the end of the list.

"Ummm?" Roy teased, shifting his little girl's weight as his leg started to fall asleep.

"Chris-,"

"Useless!"

Roy stilled. His black world seemed to have gained several dark cracks.

And what a strange, familiar weight had come onto his head...

He vaguely thought he heard Riza groan.

"...come again?"

"The last word, daddy! Useless!"

_...last word daddy! Useless!_

_...word daddy! Useless!_

_...daddy! Useless!_

_Useless!_

_Useless!_

Roy Mustang would later think to himself, when he came out of his agonised reverie, that his week had been a horrible trick, an attempt to get him to lower his guard and he was changing Chris's teacher, Goddamnit, who taught children such terrible words?

He would be so busy plotting revenge against the education system that he would miss Riza's small sigh, and not hear her muttering: "...too nostalgic today...knew I shouldn't have told her about his weak spot."

* * *

Omake:

_Useless!_

Roy woke up on the couch with a start, breathing heavily. He scanned the corners of the room desperately, sighing in unlimited relief when he saw weak filters of light through the window blinds.

"Colonel?"

He glanced at Riza as she walked out of the kitchen, a cup of tea in her hands and a worried and questioning look on her face.

Calming down, he smiled at her as she carefully seated herself behind him.

"I thought we agreed you'd call me Roy?"

His wife groaned, the tea in her hand still steaming as she slowly leaned back, a hand on her slightly rounded stomach, "Old habits die hard."

"Really? You say it pretty easily whenever you're mad at me." His grin was almost infuriatingly smooth, "Or, you know, that time on the train to Xing when we..."

"_Roy_!"

He grinned, "See?"

Riza made a noise of exasperation, sipping her tea and muttering something about silly, spoiled men who only worried everyone.

"...hey, Riza."

"...Mm?"

"Can we name the baby Chris?"


	54. O Childsama

Author's Note:

*sighs in relief* Ah, finally. With this, the family fluff is well and truly out of my system. Watch out for the next theme, minna- the angst is back!

* * *

It was a good day to be out.

The sun was shining as if the moon had never overshadowed it, the children laughed as if they never whimpered in fear, the grass smelt as if it'd never been burnt and Roy saw it all as if he had never gone blind for even a second, let alone several long, agonising hours.

Yes, it was a very good day to be out...

Unless Roy was the Fuhrer (which he was) and Riza was in Xing to strengthen foreign relations (which she was) and he was surrounded by a dozen bodyguards on the way to pick their daughter from school and explain to her she'd be stuck with dad for a week (and this was all horribly true).

And everyone was _staring_ at him, whispering and pointing and exclaiming, as if they had never seen their country's leader before.

(Roy Mustang was not having a good day out.)

* * *

Roy shifted uncomfortably in the grade school's private lobby, feeling incredibly, indescribably awkward as his eyes darted everywhere, like the desperate black orbs of a trapped animal. From the untouched plate of high quality biscuits, to the tea pot, to Chris's teachers hovering nervously behind the door, and back again (because the teachers had looked so shocked and flustered when they saw him instead of Riza, stuttering their greetings and insisting his majesty come inside and sit down, they couldn't have him standing, they were so sorry, they had no idea he was coming, should they fetch little Chris-chan now and would the Fuhrer perhaps like another cup of tea?).

Feury looked scared half to death by all the people crowding at the window in an attempt to catch a glimpse of the country's leader and Fullmetal, damn him, was stifling snickers behind his hand even as Breda, good man, nudged him to be quiet.

Roy crossed his arms, holding back a vicious grimace in case Chris's panicking teachers...panicked.

He'd expected at least a little sympathy from the blonde alchemist, seeing as Edwin was forever boasting of the way everyone at school looked up at him because of his dad's hero reputation, and Winry had to put up with people coming to the house for autograph's practically every week- but _nooooooo,_ it seemed the damn midget hadn't grown up at all in a practically a decade.

"Pretty popular, aren't you, Mustang?" Fullmetal dared to snigger out his taunt.

It was getting very hard to stop himself from snarling, "If I were you Fullmetal, I'd-"

"Oh? Daddy!"

Chris's darling voice, so like her mother's, saved Winry from having a crisp for a husband.

"Chris-chan~!" Roy sat up, all smiles with tiny little hearts popping around him as the eight year old hurried over to give him a tight hug, her wonderful blonde hair swishing and her lovely dark eyes meeting their twin in his own, "How's daddy's little girl~?"

"I'm fine. I got 100% on the kanji test today!" Chris smiled her beautifully bright smile at him and Roy's gloominess melted away like snow in the face of spring as he began singing his daughter's praises to the heavens.

(Ever since her birth, the Fuhrer of Amestris remained resolute in his opinion that, apologies to Hughes aside, there had never been any child in the world as perfect as Roy and Riza's own. He'd even imagined writing book about it, entitled 'The Wonder of Chris Mustang, Volume 1: Childhood'-no, wait, he'd already imagined writing one about her infancy, it'd have to be 'The Wonder of Chris Mustang, _Volume 2_: Childhood'. But then again, he had also thought about including her toddler days, so then maybe her childhood would be volume 3...?)

"Where's mom?" Roy's little piece of heaven on earth broke into his adoration, and Roy had to crash into reality a little.

"Ah." He sweated, worrying about his little girl's emotions, since Chris had never been apart from her mother for an entire week before, "Well, mom's going to be visiting the Yao's for a while." He grinned nervously, "I'm afraid you're stuck with me for a couple of days."

Come to think of it, Roy was starting to really miss Riza's presence. He wasn't used to his partner (in every sense of the word) being willingly absent from his side for long. And what if some scum in Xing tried to hit on her...?

"Oh, okay then." Chris saved yet another life as she interrupted her father's imaginary massacre of flirty men, slipping her small hand into his large one, "Just don't burn the kitchen down again and we'll be fine, I think. Mom might even come back early, since she doesn't like leaving us for long."

Roy beamed, homicidal thoughts forgotten as he stood up, ready to take his little girl home, certain of his wife's devotion to her family and 100% sure he'd be able to look after their child magnificently in the seven days that followed. "Of course!"

Roy Mustang was having a very good day out.

* * *

Omake:

As the Fuhrer of Amestris merrily walked out of the school with his daughter holding onto his hand, cheerfully talking about their upcoming week and making plans, the people of Amestris couldn't help but fear what would happen to their leader's sanity if his precious little girl ever got married.


	55. Infectious Crying

Author's Note:

*sobs* Oh God, this even made me tear up. I need to stop writing blind!Roy.

* * *

He reaches out a hesitant hand, his black world not changing, not moving, staying just as dark as it'd been for hours (_he pushes away the start of hysteria, tries to focus_) as he moves his limb forwards, centimetre by centimetre, until he feels his fingers clumsily collide with her wet cheek.

He knows it is hers- he would know Riza Hawkeye anywhere, anytime, under any circumstance.

He slowly, carefully moves his hand to caress the side of her face, a thumb stroking away the wet drops beneath her eyes in a small attempt at comfort.

The tears just keep falling.

"Why are you crying?" He asks, and it feels a relief to hear his own voice, low and hoarse as it may be; it gives him proof of his existence, of the world still being here, of his being alive despite the total absence of light.

"Your eyes..." She chokes out, and he can hear her breath hitch, feel several strands of her hair gently hit his fingers, feel her face turn distraught beneath his palm. "Colonel, your eyes..."

His lips twitch up as if they're controlled by a nervous puppeteer and he tries to find reassuring words that aren't lies, "...I'll get used to it."

He can feel her flinch, and tries not to wince himself as the wetness increases, as an ache inside his chest grows.

"...Such pure tears," He murmurs, caressing her cheek like they were old lovers, warding off the insanity of not being able to see the one person he can't be without, "...Until I can see them again, don't cry, Lieutenant."

"..." He can feel her lean on his shoulder, and he wraps an arm around her head, her back, feels the dried blood near her shoulder.

"Please." He whispers, and feels her nod.


	56. Skilfull & Clumsy

Author's Note:

Now, I dunno about you all, but I never expected the whole marriage+kids things for RoyAi at the end of FMA. Not that I'm telling you how it ends, don't worry, there're no spoilers here.

I'm just saying, that I never expected, or expect, any explicit romancy stuff between them, because for me, RoyAi is just that. RoyAi. Roy Mustang and Riza Hawkeye. There's no doubt that they both think of each other as the one person they can't be without and there's no doubt that they'll always be together. They love each other, though it's their own brand of love; it's a love that's subtle and still so very obvious and sometimes desperate, when they think they've lost each other. But I adore that love. I adore their bond, and them. Because, yeah, there aren't any kisses or proposals or insecure bickering between them, but they're just as together as the rest of FMA's pairings. That's what I love about RoyAi and what I've always loved.

Just wanted to say that.

* * *

He didn't understand why he remained so faithful to Riza Hawkeye.

He didn't understand why he bothered getting so protective over her.

He didn't understand why he couldn't stand to lose her.

He didn't understand.

It wasn't like, Roy thought as he stared with frustration at his ceiling, it wasn't like she was _his_, or he was _hers_ or they were-...

And surely, surely his behaviour was a bad, strange thing, because they had never been-... because they weren't-...

Because...

_"So you're going to embrace the woman you love with those hands filthy with blood?"_

...Because he wasn't like Hughes. He couldn't do it.

He just couldn't.

_(Or was that another excuse? He'd built up such a hoard of them over the years as he ran away from the truth- so much that he didn't remember the difference between fiction and reality anymore.)_

It wasn't even a matter of being able to make a move or not, anyway. Who would want a murderer?

No, not even a murderer.

A liar, a breaker of promises, a wrecker of dreams and a damn selfish pigment of a man who clung onto her and refused to let go, like the hideous poison ivy that used to haunt his teacher's old garden.

She'd have been as close to normal as she could have been if it weren't for him. She'd have found good, decent work and he'd still have gone off to the army and then that would have been the end...

_(And oh how he _**hates**_ that dark, ugly and twisted part of him that sighs in relief for their bonds. It's _relieved_, the monster inside him is _relieved _that her back was tattooed with secrets, it's _relieved_ that his naive dream made her stain her hands, it's _relieved_ that even though he burned her back she came running after him and it's _relieved_ that her soul has been so tightly intertwined with his own that only certain death could make them part. The monster is relieved and the monster is him and he is a monster and she is a victim he found too precious to let go. Or were these more lies and excuses?)_

It's disgusting how grateful he feels for her to be by his side instead of working in a shop somewhere. No, no, not a shop; his Riza didn't belong in a shop. Maybe a teacher? She got on well with children...

Roy froze with his eyes wide, the cool air in his messy apartment suddenly stifling his lungs and making him choke on it.

"'My Riza'?" he whispered, incredulous.

_Dangerous_.

That was a really dangerous thought.

(_He has been making a claim on her, after all, ever since day one, when no one in the world other than Roy Mustang and Bartholomew Hawkeye himself could call her 'Riza'. He was still slightly stunned at the way he'd accomplished it, first showing fake ignorance towards Riza's startled expression, then tactfully mentioning how he was used to calling girls by their first names because of his sisters and finally using the name so rarely yet so continuously that she eventually got used to it without even realising. Even in the military, it was such a sly move to make her his aide: to keep her by his side at all times as if to silently remind her every day just who he was to her and what she'd promised him and how no one else in the world knew her or valued her like he did. Or did he not know what he was doing at all and had he just assigned her because of the wretched dependence on her presence to keep him sane?_)

Because they still weren't...they weren't...

(_Every word he tries to find is rejected as a lie. Because he knows it's not true that they're not together or an item; it's not because of their general definition, you understand, but simply because she follows his every step and he stays where she can follow -so they're together- and it's very hard to find one of them without the other near in thought or presence -so they're an item-. Or perhaps that's what being each other's significant other meant? -He knew they were definitely two different people who held a large significance to the other...-_)

Well, maybe they were _something_.

It confuses him as to what it is, the _something_ that describes them.

Sometimes he hugged her, and other times he was careful to keep two paces in between them.

Sometimes she smiled at him, and other times she frowned disapprovingly at his laziness.

Most of the time, they were soldiers who would die for their cause and their country and _each other_.

Most of the time, they were normal people who didn't want to lose each other.

He couldn't admit to anything; he had no idea _what_ he, Roy Mustang, and she, Riza Hawkeye, were.

He only knew that they stayed within each other's reach and his crazy protectiveness and dependence were secretly cherished by her and her stubborn loyalty and reliance were quietly adored by him and he smiled when she smiled and she liked hearing his voice and he was fond of making her flush and she tidied up his apartment with vigour every time he invited her over for sharing loads of paperwork and maybe they were kind of together, in a way of their own.

Though they weren't exactly walking to a bright future; it was more like they were stumbling, leaning on each other for support on a hazy road in the middle of somewhere that might as well be nowhere.

But stumbling was a good start, Mustang thought, his lips curving upwards.

He closed his eyes, content.

_(He would stumble with her anywhere- and that wasn't a lie.)_


	57. Feigning Sleep

Author's Note:

*sighs* FMA's ended. A golden era has ended. But I'm happy with it. Content, even. Didn't expect anything more than what we got. :D

Now all I need to do is hope for the sequel! XD

Also, guys, I posted a post-ch108 RoyAi fic called **Habits**. Check it out, ne~! (Or I might just add it as one of these themes, anywaym since that was my original intention but it didn't fit my latest one. Though I wonder if that would be considered cheating?)

* * *

"Long time no see, Roy-boy. Are you doing well?"

She hasn't seen her foster son for a few months, so of course Chris Mustang is quietly, secretly pleased that Roy-boy dropped by, in her heart of mama-bear hearts.

"Naah, I'm not doing well at all. I came here to cheer myself up."

But she's also a strict and hardworking woman, so she gives him a little of the evil eye for coming to goof off.

_Shouldn't you and Riza be **working**, mister?_ She asks- then, for a moment, her left eyebrow lowers in worried realization, just like his own tended to.

Today was Wednesday.

Riza would normally never let him come and get doted on by his sisters on a workday...

_Riza's been taken out of my reach_, he says and though she's 49 years old and a pro, Madame Christmas barely stops her face from slackening with worry, tries to ignore the way her old heart's started thumping in loud agitation. It feels like she's just been woken up from a good dream with a douse of ice cold water.

She remembers Riza: the little blonde girl with lonely eyes and a polite smile that didn't judge Chris for the clothes she wore; the quiet happiness shining in her face at having a friend around, even if it was just her Roy-boy.

She remembers Riza: the grown up girl with a sad face and hunched up shoulders, shaking her head as she said it was okay, she hadn't expected Madame to be able to make it to the funeral.

She remembers Riza: that haunted young woman with dark eyes sitting at her dinner table, the way her hands shook as she lifted up another glass of water and how she didn't _ever_ lean her back against the chair; the way Roy's face screamed of guilt and an anguish that Chris could never know as he murmured reminders near her ear, things about painkillers and burn salves.

She remembers Riza.

"What'll you have?" She asks, closing her eyes and putting her bar-hostess mask back up, like falling back asleep and falling into a dream world where she's completely in control, and everything's fine. Out of reach, Roy-boy had only said _out_ _of_ _reach_. That was good, she wasn't injured at least- she shouldn't worry, Riza was a strong girl, despite all her suffering.

"I'm still recovering, so no alcohol."

Chris was a strong woman too, so what was she doing, getting so worked up? Tch, she really was getting too old for this work.

"I'll order a special one, Madam," Roy-boy says, and the look in his eyes after he pushes the paper towards her makes her crack a smile.

"Right-o,"

Nothing to worry about; Roy-boy was nothing if not protective of his loved ones. Riza'd be fine.

Though she wasn't looking forward to passing the message onto Grumman that his granddaughter was currently 'out of reach'; oh man, that was _not_ going to be an enjoyable conversation.


	58. Before Falling Asleep

Author's Note:

Aaaaaagh, can you believe I still haven't caught up on posting all the themes I've already gotten written? It's driving me mad, since I want all you guys' *glomps reviewers* feedback and see if you like my latest, but I also know that if I post them all at once most of you will probably review at the last posted chapter and then I won't have any reviews for the first ones posted or those in between.

Therefore, if you want quicker updates, please review! I'm not holding the chapters hostage though, I swear, I just want to make sure I get feedback on them. Besides, I only have two, three more already written...

Ah man, no, you know what? I don't care, I don't want to be accussed of blackmail, I'm just going to post them all this week! But please read them one at a time and review if you feel like it guys, come on, feedback keeps me going...

Now, as for the actual theme: I must wonder what happened with Roy and Riza before their first panel in 108.

* * *

"Lieutenant," Mustang weakly mumbles, instinctively searching for his aide amidst the consuming blackness of his vision before closing his eyes with a hiss of frustrated realization (_he is _blind_, he cannot see her, cannot pick out her golden hair amidst the chaos as he used to_). He can hear the others groaning back into consciousness or searching for their comrades, smell his own blood seeping out from grazes on his face, feel the continuous sting from his twisted ankle that came with ducking the explosion and ignores them all. He wishes he could stand up on his own. He wishes he could look for his Lieutenant. He wishes he could see. He wishes he wasn't so damn _useless_.

"Lieutenant-!" He repeats, louder, his voice cracking and he's starting to grow frantic as his hands meet nothing, nothing, _nothing_ but empty air. He cannot hear her voice, he cannot see her face, **_she's left him alone_**-

"I'm here, Colonel," Hawkeye's voice sounds raspy and hoarse and tired when her hand catches hold of his, but she's **there**.

Mustang lets out a deep, shaky sigh of relief and his hand tightens around hers like he's a drowning man grabbing hold of the only lifeline. (_And maybe he is, maybe he was, maybe, because seconds ago he could barely hear her voice above the loud thudding of his stupid, terrified heart._) He dimly realises his grip is painfully tight, and forces himself to loosen it. Slightly.

He wishes he wasn't wearing gloves so he could feel her skin. He wishes he could pull her into another embrace, tight and desperate with her head safely tucked between his neck and collarbone.

He wishes, but then he finally breaks through the surface of his own murky swamp of terror. Reality re-emerges and they are on Doomsday's battlefield- this is not the time to be selfish and wishes only come true in dreams.

He lets go (_reluctantly_) of her hand and she moves to his side, supporting him as always, as usual, but right now he needs her body against his for more comfort than support.

"What...happened?" He asks, still dazed and only just coming back to his right state of mind, "Did we win?"


	59. Gift

Author's Note:

Meet my new favourite theme.

* * *

"How many years have we known each other?" Roy asks, lying idly on the couch, his eyes lazily wandering about the nap room. He views the ceiling, a stark, pristine white; an open window, showing hints of the azure sky; Riza's uniform, pressed, blue and clean; Riza's face, familiar, vital, much more than words can explain.

His eyebrow slowly quirks up, a questioning gesture he's had since his youth, and for a moment he blinks leisurely, his right arm dangling down the couch's side. It's the most relaxed he's been in months.

Riza is right next to him and glances away from the tabletop, from the guns she's cleaning, her eyes cool and composed but just that little bit soft. "I didn't keep track, General."

"Huh," he says, as if that didn't really surprise him, and his eyes find their way to her slightly muddy boots (_he remembers that mud from last week. Trekking through the East's swamps has never been so enjoyable; he still remembers the feel and shape of her shoulder under his hand as they stumbled into each other)._

Dark eyes move back up to meet her light ones and his mouth smiles, in that small, secret way of his, specially reserved for her alone.

"Have you got something on your mind?" She asks him, but it's not really a question. She caught his smile and her own is now mirroring it; little and hushed, maybe even a bit stern, but it's always only been his.

"Nothing much..." He murmurs, his eyes flitting away again, then closing. His right hand, bare and without gloves, reaches up towards the ceiling, as if to reach for the tips of her hair, if it were long again and out of its clasp.

It isn't.

"I see." She says and lets go of her gun. Her arm drops.

It's longer than it should be- it should just be a stolen moment, a split second, a not wholly accidental collision of limbs. But no one is there, and the day is warm despite the creaking fan, and a touch cannot be too much to ask for.

Her hand is dusted with gunpowder and grime, and his hand is soft as silk and coated with sweat. They are used to the sensations when they brush against each other. Slow, agonising...sweet.

He holds his breath as the tips of her callused fingers lingeringly caress his own; so, so close to intertwining. His hand curves, almost against his will, as if to catch her and hold her there for just a little longer.

She inhales, soft and sharp, but she has always been the stronger one.

Their hands part and he allows a disappointed exhale to pass his lips.

They can hear the footsteps of soldiers again, the creak of the fan turning above- and, still, no one is here and the day is warm.

"Mean," He whispers, the yearning in his voice hoarsening it; his unsatisfied expression makes an indulgent smile soften her mouth.

"Don't sulk," She murmurs, unyielding; he sighs again, a wry and fond look on his face because he expected such a refute.

But before she turns back to her guns, she leans down and brushes a lock of hair from his forehead.

Seconds later, when his widened eyes have turned to stare at her, she's already back to business as usual. Eyes and hands are wholly occupied her guns- a hint of red stains her cheeks.

He laughs.


	60. At The Window

Author's Note:

Rest assured that I'm alive guys. -_-;;; Sorry for the super late upate, but life has ganged up on me lately- schoolwork mixed with family drama and friend issues isn't a pretty sight.

Anyway, this theme's dedicated to the fabulous Vikki-chan (aka hand-made-city) whose birthday is today. Keep on being your wonderful self, hun, and have a great year!

Another note- this theme was getting too long and complex for one post, so it's split in two. Hopefully, part 2 will be up soon...

Vikki-chan, hope you liiiiiiiiiiiiiike~!

* * *

**Part 1**

* * *

Mr Mustang has come to visit again.

He takes off his hat as he enters, bows his head to her in greeting. "Hey," He says, soft and polite (_his smile is the same as yesterday, and the day before that. He couldn't come in on Tuesday- but she thinks he would have kept the same merry mask on anyway, if he had)._

Riza nods back, and her lips twitch up politely. "Hello, Mr Mustang."

He stiffens at the title, like he always has, and, if only for a second, her sharp eyes catch his stifled wince; Hawkeye by name, hawk's eye by nature- even if she can't get out of bed yet.

_(It seems like he is waiting for something else when he comes into her hospital room, and he always ends up disappointed. It makes her feel disappointed too, though she's not sure why.)_

Then, smoothly, he sits next to her, attentive, smiling, (_fake_), cheerful. "So, what've you been up to?"

"Nothing much really," She looks down at her hands. They are callused, though she knows they should not be, if all she did was filing, "...How is work?"

Again, that stillness.

"Oh, you know," A laugh, "Managing the hotel isn't as easy without my secretary."

(_She feels like he's **lying**.)_

"...I hope I'll be back soon," She says, though she knows she shouldn't. (_It is precisely because she knows he is bothered by any mention of work that she makes it meet his ears. She wants him to frown, to grimace, to glare. Anything but that same close-eyed, wide-mouthed smile.)_

He swallows, and there may be a tremble in his hands when he reaches out to pat her arm, "Don't rush ahead," He says, the smile a bit weaker now, just a bit. "Relax for a while first, Lie-...Miss Hawkeye."

(_There it is again, the small clue amidst the confusion. That word he keeps breaking off, as if there was someone else with her face and he'd forgotten they shared different names. What is that word?_)

She clenches her fists. "I cannot help but feel I am not the type of person to relax."

For the first time in their re-acquaintance, Mr Mustang laughs, short and loud and deep.

Surprised, she blinks.

"No," He says, grins at her with his left-eyebrow low (_she is suddenly hit by a wave of _homesickness_)_, "You're not that kind of person at all."

"...may you tell me?" She asks, so quiet it's barely a whisper, "What kind of person I was?"

He looks out the window next to her bed, pretending to observe the scenery while avoiding her gaze. "...You're my secretary, Miss Hawkeye, how should I-?"

"...Why would you?" She suddenly demands, loud and angry, all that uneasiness bubbling, _boiling_ over to the surface. She's not a fool. "If you were simply my boss, _why_ would you come visit me every day!" His breath catches in his throat, and she carries on, desperate, "If you weren't, even, at _least_, my friend, how could you know what kind of person I am? Why would you be the only one the doctors let me see?"

"I..."

"Do you know what it's like, to be stuck in this big white room?" Hawkeye yells at him, tears building up behind her frustrated ochre eyes. "What it's like to stay cooped up in here, waiting until my legs heal, not knowing _anyone_ or _anything_ or _anywhere_! Smiling dully when the nurses come to check on me, all the while knowing that the other patients in my ward have stacks of gifts and letters, visitors and relatives, and even if they don't remember everything yet, they're trying! They've got _evidence_! I don't even recognise my own _name_! The only person I have- the only person I can say is a _part of my life_, is _you_ Mr Mustang, but it always feels like you're **_lying _straight_ to my _face**!"

Shuddering, Riza covers her face with her hands. "Why can't you tell me...?" She asks, quiet now, pleading, "Just a little...friends...family...work..._anything_..."

"Hawkeye...I..." Mustang looks at her with a desperate, pained look on his face. "...I..."

"...Mr Mustang...**please**-!" She stills.

_Red sand. _

_/i have a favour to ask you\\_

_Grave._

_/mr mustang\\_

_Murderer._

_/please\\_

**_Murderer_**_._

_/burn\\_

_MURDERE-_

"Hawkeye!" He's shaking her (when did he move to her side?), eyes wide and terrified, and that mask of a smile is gone now, it's nowhere in sight.

"Wake up! Hawkeye!" He repeats, and she blinks, sees him in front of her but doesn't.

_(Why does such a strong man, with such a tight a grip on her shoulders, look so weak and desperate?)_

"Damnit, **LIEUTENANT**!" He yells, and her blurred picture of bloody sand and dark sky breaks into thousands of tiny pieces.

* * *

After the doctors have finished checking up on her –she noticed one, Dr Knox, pull Mr Mustang aside for some hushed words-, the two are left alone again, 45 minutes later in her hospital room.

Her visitor stares down at the ground, a hand cradling his forehead. His eyes look almost black, and his mouth is only a straight line.

She looks at him, then looks away, chest tight. She doesn't know what to say to make him feel better (_she isn't sure if she wants to_).

"...Stubborn." Mr Mustang finally says. The word gushes out like a defeated sigh. "Pigheaded and proud about it."

He has not looked up, and she motions to meet his eyes. Words she thinks she should say are stuck in her throat.

He tilts his head further down, hiding from her searching gaze. "Patient. You'll wait outside a building all night if you want to." He continues, and she breathes in, sharp, and understands, closes her eyes. "Smart. You think of things no one else does."

A pause.

"...Loyal." Mustang makes the word sound like a confession; it passes his lips so tenderly. "Horribly, wonderfully loyal."

She opens her eyes at his tone and notices how his hand has reached out, almost as if to play with strands of her hair or caress the side of her face. Mr Mustang starts, and tries to cover up the motion by running his hand through his pitch black locks.

Silence.

His voice is hoarse, tired. "...I'll tell you the rest tomorrow, Hawkeye." He gets up slowly, puts his hat back on and moves towards the door.

"...Mr Mustang?"

He pauses in the doorway, as if her voice had commanded him to.

"Thankyou."

His shoulders seem to shake for a moment.

"...You were in the military."

He's out the door before she can even think to ask any more questions.

* * *

It is Saturday, and his first morning visit to her. A slice of peeled red apple is halfway into her mouth when he enters her room, eyes darting from side to side like a guilty man in court.

_(She's relieved, somehow. It feels more...familiar for him to be looking like that.)_

She chews the remnants of her breakfast, swallows; a wobbly smile, because while she may be upset with him for lying, she is grateful and happy to see him (_and for some reason, it is hard to _stay_ upset with this man_).

He manages a shaky twitch of his lips back, looking her straight in the eyes, "Dreadful morning," He says, motioning with his head towards the window by her bedside, weak humour in his eyes.

It's raining outside.

Her shoulders relax, and she manages something like a laugh. _(Honest. He's going to be **honest**.)_ "You don't like the rain?"

"Hate it." He replies, and sits himself down at the chair next to her bed. (_It's pretty much his chair, come to think of it. No one else sits there._)

The nurse excuses herself, smiles and winks at Riza as if her lover's visiting.

Mr Mustang notices, as well as Hawkeye, and he coughs while she looks down at her hands.

Silence_. _

_(The way he watches her with dark, cave-hued eyes is somehow comforting.)_

"...I find it strange, to tell you about yourself." He states, his words somewhat measured. "Because _you_ were always the one who knew _me_ the best."

She looks up, "I'm your...?"

Mr Mustang hesitates, as if he's searching for the right words. "...You are...my aide. My 1st Lieutenant. My...very trusted and...dear subordinate." He takes a breath, and, as if the description was not enough, "A...very important...person...to me."

"No lies?"

Roy stares at her, dark eyes wide and surprised; Riza's serious and weary gaze greets his taken aback one.

A dry smile brushes across his lips, "That's so like you," he murmurs, "To brush me off when I get serious." He glances down at Hawkeye's clasped hands, considering their many calluses and scars with something like tenderness, and then meets her eyes. "No lies, Hawkeye. I meant every word."

"...then I believe you," She says and smiles slightly, warm and forgiving.

Mr Mustang sighs like she's taken the weight of the world off his shoulders.

_(She doesn't miss the barely restrained twitch of his hands, motioning towards her own.)_

Outside, it's stopped raining.**  
**

* * *

"You don't have to learn about it." He tells her, after she asks about her past. They've moved out to the wet garden now (_let's get some fresh air, he told her, looking pale as he helped her into a wheelchair_), on a bench near some sunflowers, and he watches her like dazed men in the desert would watch a mirage. Hopeful and desperate, but too world weary to really believe what they see.

"..." She reigns in her temper (_he doesn't mean to hurt her, she understands that now_), "Why do you say that?"

He hesitates. "...I...it wasn't...you can start over, if you like." There is a certain air about him after he says that, as if he meant to say so many other things but the words that came out his mouth were the ones he'd wanted to say the least. "You can get a...new name...apartment...job."

"Why should I want to?" She asks, belligerent, and he lets out a soft groan, leans back and closes his eyes. Somehow, his head is leaning, just slightly, on her shoulder.

"You're making this hard for me." He complains to her, tone tired and drained. She has the strangest feeling it should be sounding childish instead. "Please don't."

(_There's a spark of sudden curiosity, far greater than any other she's had so far. It isn't a question who she is or what he is but rather..._)

"If it's so hard, Mr Mustang," She brushes a strand of hair out of his eyes, a sudden twinge in her chest that is a mixture of quiet disapproval and silent delight, "Then don't do it."

His eyes stare up at her, lips parting as if to say something, then closing. The way he stares at her seems painfully beseeching.

(_What Hawkeye really wonders, is: what are they?)_

"Don't say such things, Hawkeye."

* * *

End Part 1.


	61. DiaryJournal

Author's Note:

Sorry this is not Part 2 ^^;;; It's taking some time to write, might take a while.

Also, guys, thanks so much for reviewing- it's my energy source. I apologise for not being able to answer all reviews, life's so hectic I can barely get writing time...

Anyway, enjoy!

* * *

She is his teacher's daughter, and he doesn't quite like her.

She is more like a part of the scenery rather than a person, and that discomforts him. He is used to being the gentleman, soft spoken and polite to anyone he may meet; but Riza Hawkeye is a doll to look at but never touch, to thank for dinner but never start a conversation with. He is not sure who first drew the line or marked the distance, but it's there.

It doesn't bother him as much as it should, either, but he decides not to dwell on it.

_(She's simply there, Roy thinks, but not: like the oxygen people take for granted with every breath- just not that precious, right?)_

He is her father's student, and she doesn't quite trust him.

There is not much _to_ trust to begin with; Mr Mustang is both another alchemy obsessed ghost haunting the study with her father, and a semi-familiar face with a name whom she serves tea to. She does not bother to look closely at his features, so they aren't clear in her memory; she may remember pale skin and black hair when she recalls his image, but she can never be sure if his eyes are black or dark blue, or if any small smile has ever decorated his face.

That -if it is anything at all- is all she knows about him, and perhaps all she wants to.

(_Either way, Riza knows best not to turn -or _show_- her back to an **alchemist**._)

* * *

Days pass by and they, Roy and Riza, pass by each other in a similar manner.

His head is buried in yet another book, mind a world away and eyes calculating. Her face is ducked and blonde bangs hide her thoughtful eyes, a tray of tea in experienced hands.

They barely brush each other as he goes to the living room and she heads up to the study. They hardly notice, rarely care, because they are just part of each other's lives, yet not.

Half an inch, one, two: the space separating them does not matter as days turns into weeks, months, a year, and more.

_(All that matters, in the deepest corners of their subconscious, is that they do not collide.) _

* * *

He leaves eventually (_he is meant to, of course- they are not family, nor are they friends, just strangers in the same house_) and nothing much changes (_is something supposed to?_).

His days are happier, perhaps, now that he is near family and familiarity.

Her days are gloomier, perhaps, now that the house has lost another life.

Roy heads downstairs and Riza heads upstairs, and in both their households, no one else is taking up the other side of the staircase.

(_And on that first day, just in that first moment, they are **startled** at the change._)

* * *

They do not come to each other's mind as much as one would expect.

He thinks of his teacher often of course; Bartholomew Hawkeye's stern figure and harsh words follow every alchemic act Roy has ever done, a ghost present even in absence. But strangely, his teacher's daughter does not come to Roy's mind as a connection to that cold man, nor in relation to his sisters, nor as a comparison to the busy academy meals (_only sometimes, when he catches a particular shade of blonde hair or a remarkably steady tea tray, does he feel some trace of lost familiarity_).

Her life is centred around her father and his ailing health; tea turns to herbal remedies to medicine. She does not quite understand why she is so desperate to make him live past this curse of obsessive alchemy, but she _is_, so much that she breaks down crying when the doctor casts his final judgement. It cannot be loneliness she fears, but that is what squeezes her chest and makes her feel like the child she's never let herself be. (_Her father's tone could have been gentle, bordering on apologetic as his old hand covers hers, a child's lonely, bitter tears dripping on a variety of colourful tablets. "Just make me some tea, Riza. ...Please."_) She does not have time to spare for a stranger, when her lone blood relative is slowly dying (_only once, or twice, when she finds the lone white collar shirt he left behind and remembers a raven haired head bent over, pouring over text_).

It is a miracle they come to one another's mind at all (_but they still feel like something is missing, strange, when they climb an empty staircase_).

* * *

Her father's death rocks them, and re-acquaintance is peculiar, expected, familiar. The two who have never so much as touched have now collided, and they can only cling to each other- to the only remainder, to all that's left of something they once shared.

It is odd for him to feel lonely, to feel like she's the only person he has left in the world, but that is how it is. He keeps his eyes on her now, drinks in cream skin and golden hair and earthy, amber eyes. He talks to her, makes gestures, and she smiles and talks back (_finally, finally, he never even knew he wanted her to_). It feels that a piece of the jigsaw is back in place, as if it was always there, as if they were always close friends. (_He doesn't know her, but he wants to and he clings to every small glance his way._)

It is alien for her to _not_ feel lonely, and his place beside her feels wonderfully warm, because she is not the only one in that sad Hawkeye house now _(and she realises, she has never been)_, and Roy is a person with a soft, kind smile and she drinks in his presence like hot chocolate on a cold winter night (_she made some for them all once, twice, and perhaps those are the times when he looked up to thank her but she had already turned around, chances wasted_). His eyes are still as dark as ever and she knows their colour well now, though she cannot quite name it.

It is bizarre, in a way, for their opinion of each other to change so drastically (_but they go up and down the staircase together, trading greetings and smiles- and it doesn't feel out of place, no, not at all_).

* * *

She is his teacher's daughter, and he doesn't quite love her.

She is nice, warm and open and familiar in a way that had been kept hidden, lighting up the dark corners of his heart. He thinks about her more than he should, when he sees gloves or fire or books or tea. In the academy, he considers writing letters to her but doesn't want to seem too forward.

He sends one every mid-term anyway.

_(It's gone beyond 'like' by now, he knows that at least.)_

* * *

He is her father's student, and she doesn't quite believe him.

She trusts and she cares because he is all that she has now, and he is warm and kind and _sincere_. She knows him better than she has ever known her father, and it would be a lie to say he does not hold a part of her heart, just by being there. She is a pessimist though, and she knows life is unkind, especially to dreamers.

She shows him her back anyway.

(_He is not just an alchemist, she knows that at least._)

Things were so simple then.

* * *

The years late are not kind,

Nor is Roy too forward.

* * *

_They go down the staircase together, both in one direction, two killers._

_(His heart is still thudding, adrenaline and fear.)_

_(He wants to forget that panic when he hung up the phone.)_

_"...I'm glad you're alive."_

_(Her pulse calms down; he's her main priority now.)_

_(Just keep him safe, never leave his side.)_

_"I'm sorry to have worried you."_

_(And then silence, because they know each other so well._)


	62. A Reason To Quarrel

Author's Note: She's **BACK**~! ;D Miss me, my lovely audience?

Sorry I had to disappear- internet ban, studying, family drama, etc. I'm sure you can all relate.

Thank for all the reviews in my year of absence, and the continued favorites and story alerts! They've really encouraged me to start up again~! :)

**Important, for your reading pleasure:** This is Part 0, i.e the prequel of_ theme 60, At The Window_. I strongly suggest re-reading it to get some references and what's happening over here.

There will hopefully be a part 2, and maybe part 3. I can't promise whether Part 2 will be in the next theme or whether there'll be a completely different story or one-shot. Hope you all enjoy, nonetheless!

And, while it's great to be back, give me some nostalgia love in a review! :D

* * *

**Part 0**

* * *

The hustle and bustle caused by the doctors inside is ignored by him. He just sits, elbows on his knees, staring down at the floor. His face is shadowed and pale, eyes glazed over. His hands are ungloved and (_useless_) trembling, hanging in empty space.

Anyone who looked could tell he was afraid.

Because it was an assassination attempt_. (Of __**course**__ it would be, he should've expected one, should've been prepared. Can never do anything right_.)

Because the wrong target was hit. (_And only _she_ would fearlessly throw herself over him, as if she was bulletproof where he was not. His fantasy, not hers.)_

Because this is his nightmare, all over again.

(_There is a part of him that wonders if it wasn't all on purpose. Another enemy in the shadows, using his weakness against him. Topple the Queen and the King gets thrown halfway to oblivion._)

Roy Mustang leans further into himself, biting back the guttural scream of hysteria.

Inside, the doctors continue to bustle, terse commands for anaesthesia and scalpels. He has long since learned not to listen. Not to ask questions. Not to so much as _think_ about what was happening.

_It's been two hours._

* * *

_It was something about water pipes in the new buildings. A review._

_They were under the hot sun, yellow sand and yellow bricks. And he and she were talking, she glanced to the side and- and then she yelled, and the ground hit his back and she was above him, and- _

_Before he could so much as _call her name_, Roy felt her body __**jerk**__._

_The panic was instantaneous and overwhelming. He sat up, ignorant of the soldiers around them sending fire, the floundering of his security team. The world was on mute._

_He rolled her over and the yellow sand beneath them was splashed terrifying crimson (he could feel the déjà vu clawing at the back of his mind- __**fuck**__, why didn't he learn alkahestry?). He called her name and felt his heart hammer harder when she didn't answer. Again, but no, no, she was out cold._

_Did she hit her head? Where was her wound? He desperately tried to think, tried to make sense and _helpher_, chest tight and fingers clammy as they scrambled to her neck, felt the pulse that was still there –thankyou__**thankyou**__-. He saw the red on her abdomen now, the bullethole. He tore off the outer shirt of his uniform, hands fumbling as he pressed it against the horrifying scarlet. _

_He couldn't tell if her pulse was steady or not. He couldn't do any more for her, he needed-_

"_Stay with me." He quickly ordered, not even sure if she heard him, and looked up, realizing that almost the entire party was up and running in the direction of the gun shot._

"_Forget the sniper, get her a doctor!" He snarled at Major Miles, eyes wild and furious. How _dare_ they put her as a second priority?_

"_But we can't just-"_

"_**GET A FUCKING DOCTOR!**__"_

* * *

Someone exits the operating room, taking slow, rough steps until he stops in front of the Major General. Silent. Waiting.

_It's been 8 hours._

Mustang has already seen the white coat, smelt the cigarettes. He knows who it is. He just can't muster the courage to hear what they have to say.

(_He knows that the corner of Knox's white coat is stained crimson with Hawkeye's blood_.)

He feels his stomach clench, acidic bile throwing itself at the back of his throat. Jaw clenched tightly, he swallows.

Just one deep breath to try and freeze his delirious thoughts, and then he's on feet, meeting Dr Knox's brutally honest gaze.

* * *

_He doesn't know what time it is._

Someone comes to stand beside him and Mustang starts, his head snapping up to look at them, as if expecting-

Major Miles salutes him stiffly. "Visitor hours are almost over, sir." He says, and Mustang's lost look turns to a glare fierce enough to peel paint.

"Tell them to make an exception." There is no patience in his voice to give the order twice. Miles pauses, nods and walks away.

Mustang looks down at the floor again, and thinks of rain and blood and bullet wounds.

* * *

_It's been 18 hours._

Knox's eyes narrow at him when he comes into his office, the little that was left of his uniform crumpled, and dark eyes bloodshot.

"Have you slept?" The doctor asks, voice quiet and gravelly.

"You think I could've managed to?" Mustang snaps, voice terse. His arms are sore from the spare hospital cot he was forcibly crammed into, but that's not the cause for his aggression and the doctor knows it, not even blinking at his biting tone.

"Three months." Mustang says, his voice suddenly very weak. He sits at the chair across Knox's desk, running his hands through his hair, taking a deep breath. "You said it'll take three months before she can walk again?"

Knox pauses, and Roy feels a chill go up his spine.

"Yeah." The doctor says, pretending to not notice the flame alchemist's sudden penetrating stare. "With some physiotherapy, it should take about three months. She was lucky," he says, and Mustang feels his eyes narrow _(his chest tightens; _what now?)because Knox is being nice and considerate and that means _something is wrong_. "All it caused was some swelling and blood loss. Her body'll be just fine."

"What is it?" Roy chokes out, hands clenched into fists on his knees as he glares down at the floor. "Out with it, what _else_ have I done to her?"

Knox looks sharply at him. "You didn't do anything to her, Mustang."

He has an arsenal of dangerous replies to that, things like betrayals and backs and burns, but for Hawkeye's sake, Roy keeps his mouth firmly shut. He glares at the doctor.

Knox heaves a sigh.

And tells him.

* * *

"…what?" The word is quiet, spoken almost by accident. The floor under his feet feels unsteady, all of a sudden. His eyes are wide, staring at Knox as if the man is a ghost. Blood roaring in his ears. His hands feel shaky. It spreads to his arms, his chest, and he shivers, suddenly _too cold_.

He's breathing too fast. The world is numb. There has to be a mistake.

A mistake.

A _mistake_.

Knox rubs the back of his neck. "Amnesia." He repeats, with some reluctance.

* * *

General Roy Mustang walks back to his barracks a crazed man. He can feel the warring emotions inside of him, threatening to burst and explode out onto the pavement. He wants to scream. He wants to cry. He wants to laugh in bitter irony and curse and _burn_ the world to smoke and ashes.

He'd taken everything away from her: her father's secrets and trust, her untainted hands and dreams for a beautiful future, her life and devotion. And now, _now_, Riza Hawkeye didn't even have her own _self_ anymore.

"The last straw," he mutters as he strides into what he calls home, angrily shedding the remains of his uniform. "You hear me?" He says, he doesn't know who to.

Dimly, he realises he's lost it.

"THIS IS THE LAST STRAW!" Mustang screams into his empty quarters.

_**He doesn't care that he has.**_

* * *

In the morning, Roy Mustang goes back to the hospital, in his civilian clothes. Asks to see her.

His determination, before he enters Hawkeye's room, is worthy of applause. No hesitations, no doubts. He will _make things right_ even if it kills him.

Then, he actually _sees_ her.

And it _ruins_ him.

Her face looks so soft, Mustang thinks with dazed wonder, as he slowly walks towards the chair by her bedside. She is sleeping, blonde hair strewn behind her head. Chest rising and falling, slowly, peacefully. No frown on her face.

He hasn't seen this side of her in a long time. No soldier façade, no mask of professionalism. Just Hawkeye's gentle side, usually quiet and hidden in the edges of her heart. He sometimes forgets how strong she is, when he sees her like this. Soft. Fragile. Small, even.

And his, even if they never said it out loud. Always his.

Mustang's hand is reaching out to touch her hair before he can stop it, and…

_What had he just decided to do this morning?_

-Mustang pulls it back with a jerk and a strangled gasp and _she wakes up_.

Her eyes are open in an instant, still a soldier even if she doesn't know it, and Roy quickly slips into his mask. Closed eyes, calm features. A wide mouthed smile greets her as she blinks at him, surprised, no recognition dawning in her eyes.

He has to hide the flinch, play his part well, make it all go smoothly.

Because for the first time in his life he, Roy Mustang, is going to lie to his aide. Cadet Hawkeye. 2nd Lieutenant Hawkeye. Lieutenant Hawkeye. Riza Hawkeye.

…no, that's wrong. He knows it is.

He's going to lie to Miss Hawkeye.

* * *

The plan is perfect. He knows it is. He's thought it all out. It _is_ what's best for her.

Knox doesn't agree.

"I knew you were always a jackass Mustang, but this is crossing the line!" His old accomplice is practically foaming at the mouth, throwing up his hands, "Do you even have any idea what in the hell you're doing? You can't just _change a patient's record_! Hey! Hey! Are you listening to me, you bastard?"

"If you could make Ishval go away, wouldn't you?" Mustang quietly asks him, staring out the window. The doctor is suddenly silent, and Roy continues. "If you could just…" His sleeve rubs against the condensation on the window, leaving a clearness where the fog had been. "Erase it all."

"No." The doctor tells him, tone grim and heavy. His arms are crossed, rough face twisted into a frown. But he's not shouting anymore. "You _can't_ make stuff like that go away, Mustang. It's always gonna be there. The battlefield in everyone's heads. Even her." He tilts his head towards Hawke- Miss Hawkeye's room, where she slept, so blissfully unaware. "You really think amnesiac's don't have nightmares?"

"It'll just be nightmares." Mustang chokes out, hands fisted by his sides. "Just nightmares. She won't have to live with-"

"You're not thinking clearly." Knox shook his head. "You think you can just reset someone's whole _life_? Putting aside the possibility that she'll remember everything, you can't make everyone else _forget_. She's gonna want to go to her hometown. Her old house. See old friends. Family. You think the Fuhrer's gonna just let this slide?"

"I'm her guardian in the legal system." Roy snaps.

"Some guardian." Knox bitingly replies. "Lying to your charges face when she doesn't have anyone else to trust in the world."

Mustang breathes in sharply, a vein throbbing, "You don't _understand_-"

"No." Knox harshly interjects. "I don't. You can either stop being a jackass and tell her the truth today, or keep being one till she remembers herself, or somebody else tells her. Either way, you're still a bastard. Some way to repay loyalty."

"_Shut up_." Mustang says, but it doesn't matter because the doctor's already started walking away.

_(He finds that these days, nothing much matters, anymore.)_

* * *

He finds himself sitting outside her hospital room, one Friday.

He's brought the postcards from everyone, filled with get well wishes, questions about her condition, the voices of all her concerned friends and comrades.

Doesn't know why he has, considering he won't show them to her.

The pieces of paper and card weigh so heavily in his pockets, he feels like he's carrying a bomb. _(It might as well be one.)_

He takes off his hat as he enters, bows his head to her in greeting. "Hey," He says, soft and polite (_his smile is the same as yesterday, and the day before that. He couldn't come in on Tuesday, and he's missed her, but doesn't let himself grin. Needs to keep up the act.)_

Riza nods back, and her lips twitch up politely. "Hello, Mr Mustang."

(_It was for her. All for her._)

* * *

**End Part 0.**


	63. Special Seat

Author's Note: Phew. First time I've ever written anything like this for RoyAi, but I felt like a change in pace was required for once. I mean, those two just look so _serious_ in the final photo, you can't help but wonder at how the lighter sides of their personalities have changed to suit. And Roy's flirty side. xD

Review, so I can be bothered to write another theme just as fast!

* * *

There is a glance, out of the corner of her eyes, to study his profile. It's always just a glance, her head never moving so much as an inch as her her ochre eyes flicker towards him _(moths to a flame)_. If she turned her head to look at him, then he'd notice. And she couldn't have that.

Dark eyes and darker hair, his face seems to have more angles than before. Lean and muscular, as always, but somehow the bravado he used to display like a peacock has quietened now. It's still there, of course, but hidden beneath the surface. Somewhere in there mingling with all his determination.

In a way, it calls back to his personality when he was a student: responsible, hardworking and earnest. Still so young, but somehow mature. The kind of young man that would break hearts just by saying a 'hello' that didn't really have any special meaning.

In another way, it's also startlingly different from how he'd behaved in the last few years. In public and private, he used to have so many light-hearted jokes to share, used to scatter his subtle flirting towards her, over phone lines and paperwork. And she would sigh, exasperated _(but secretly pleased, though he would never know that)_.

Now he, sometimes, just _looks_ at her in a way he's never been able to before, and it makes her, for all her immovable armour, _pause_. Chest tight, eyes blinking, not really sure where to look, if she should move or blink or even breathe.

And then he _smirks_ at her, not with an arrogance that is careless, but still arrogant, still oh so _arrogant_. He knows he's gotten to her, and _revels_ in the fact with this- this masculine pleasure that makes her- makes her want to snap a rebuttal at him that would make his gleeful face fall and male ego hurt, but the word useless just _doesn't work_ on him anymore.

(_She isn't really sure, yet, whether she likes the change or not._)

It's a strange change. She knows, of course, that he's still the same at heart (_he's always been the same at heart_). But his demeanour is so _different_ it's almost throwing her off.

She almost feels like he's circling her. He's smiling politely at another General's joke but then his eyes catch hers from across the room, grab her gaze and won't let go till she looks away, and he will be smirking again, that ever present glee when he's bested her, and he _knows_ that she knows he has.

In the conference room, he will have pulled up her chair, left it open with only his arm around it to signal it was taken, and he will wait -oh, he _waits_- until she has sat down and there is that one second -that only he and she will notice- where his arm is resting _around her_. And then he pulls back, and his fingers brushing against the strands of hair at the nape of her neck. Claiming her almost, but that doesn't make sense (_she's already his, always has been- he should know that better than anyone_).

Suddenly his eyes flicker towards her, and Hawkeye's _not ready_.

She's caught, she realises, managing to hold back a grimace as their eyes meet, just waiting for that dreaded smirk to make its appearance.

The look in his eyes is one she hasn't seen for a few years. It's the look he had when he was still a Lt. Colonel and one morning she'd made coffee for him without needing to be asked.

Surprised and delighted, eyes lighting up. Across the stretch of sand he grins at her, bright and boyish.

And the realisation hits her _like lightning_.

Hawkeye _has_ to glance away, but it's too late. The red has already crept up her neck, to her cheeks and –she glances again- there it is, he's smirking now, but she doesn't feel irritated or confused, just very, very flustered.

She's realised it. She's realised it, and he _knows_ that she has.

She's realised exactly how he was behaving, exactly why and with exactly what purpose and she wants to send him a glare that would freeze him in his tracks and _turn him back,_ if only for a second, into that boyish flirty Colonel, who would flirt but only flirt, and care and never dream of taking it any further, taking any risks with the anti-fraternization rule. Deny him that arrogant smirk, the pleased look in his eyes.

But her grandfather was Fuhrer now. Her grandfather, who quite liked Roy Mustang. Her grandfather, who knew that she _more than liked_ Roy Mustang. Her grandfather, who wanted great grandchildren.

_Her grandfather_, who could make and break rules, and turn his eye whenever he pleased.

He's been acting like a man, Hawkeye thinks, mortified that she hadn't caught on earlier. Like a man would act towards a woman. And not the way senior citizens would, not with affectionate looks and crows' feet smiles.

No, that hadn't been his intention _at all_.

And she should be feeling indignant, or angry, or-or something. But no, she doesn't.

Of course she doesn't.

It's him, and he's won the war before she even had a chance to resist.

They both know the fact, but his quick win irritates her and she sends him a glare now, ochre eyes narrowed despite her blush.

He just grins, part boyish and part mature, and she knows all too well that he doesn't mind her glare one bit, because Roy Mustang knows how to wait.

(_Though she won't admit it anytime soon, Riza Hawkeye likes the change._)


	64. The Scenery From a Car Seat

Author's Note: No, I'm not dead. Just trying to get into a medical faculty and slowly dying. DX To cheer my sadistic self up, here's RoyAi struggling in the early days of military service.

* * *

You've been running for hours now –_legs are burning, _sharp_ pain, but you're _not tired_, no, because you can't give in, you **can't**_- and it's not getting any easier. The wound in your left leg is dangerously close to reopening, but you shake your head at the Lt. Colonel's worry. He's moved closer to you since then, his arm ready to steady you whenever you falter, trying to make it easier for you.

Any protests are cut off by his glare.

_(You're starting to learn that he's just as stern as you when it came to protecting his subordinates.)_

There's the muffled sound of a sharp **click** behind you, and you start pushing him down before you can even think to shout and warn the others.

(_They'll hold no grudge, because their leader is everyone's first priority- and Havoc should be well trained enough to notice.)_

_(..You hope._)

There's a hail of bullets, like harsh and black shooting stars. A grunt, but your four companions have not lessened in number. The Lt. Colonel swears amidst orders as you crawl through the forest's clinging, damp vines.

(_He's scared of loss and so are you, but you both conquer your fears into adrenaline amidst the oozing marsh._)

_(We must not die.)_

_(We Must Not Die.)_

_(**We.** **Must.** **Not.** **Die.**)_

The mantra hums in your veins like the panicked heartbeat of a hummingbird, and there is a glance shared between you and him, wandering eyes, a quick look at one low canopy of trees.

You understand the meaning behind a blink of his eyelid, and that is natural. You're a pack of the military's dogs crawling in the muck and trying to stay alive- the leader must be understood and obeyed without question, the command relayed without hesitation.

"**_2 o'clock_**!" The order is harsh and growled out both your throats and, as one, the 6 of you lunge, duck, crawl, more bullets shriek past and you see Breda roughly pull Feury down, hear the youngest of your pack whimper.

_"How's he?"_ Mustang hisses, and your heart's thumping, beats muffled, loud, irregular. You pull out your only loaded gun, sharp eyes raking over the battlefield, try to keep your aim steady, deadly; Havoc does the same but his other arm is twisted, bleeding. _(You're numb to the pain in your leg now.)_

Falman curses under his breath, voice rough from the blood in his mouth, and you know he's already calculated your chances of victory.

_"Bullet in his arm."_ Breda exhales, his breathing strained. Has he been wounded? _"Missed the artery. I think."_

You catch a glimpse of deadly black moving among black and your teeth grit. The sharp scent of Feury's blood hangs low in the air.

"**Lt. Colonel Mustang**."

He curses, low and guttural, and as always, you know what he's thinking.

The last resort is risky, considering the terrain, and a little heartless, if worse comes to worst. But Roy Mustang is unlike other leaders in the military. They are aloof and resilient, they'll take their losses and roll with them. But not him.

Not him, because dogs and killers they may be, but he will not let his men kill and_ he will not let his men die._

"_Hawkeye, can you find them?_" He asks you, and the familiar coil of dread comes and goes from your stomach. Still-sharp (always sharp) memories of the desert leave a bitter taste in your throat.

But they are your pack now, too: the injured runt, the cuffed youngster, the weary adult, the tired elder (_and beside you, gloves out and at the ready, your alpha male.)_

"**2nd Lieutenant Hawkeye**."

_(And they all know –_you know_- that you're the alpha female. That you trust him. That he won't betray that trust._)

(He will never kill so many again.)

He looks at you after you tell him the enemies' co-ordinates. So many reassurances and promises and things that are barely words at all, are in that gaze. You breathe in, harshly cut away the last lingering doubts _(it's only to keep them away, only as a barrier, no one will die, **this is not Ishval**_) and look at him. Nod.

He **_snaps_** and the forest ahead bursts into flames. Screams and shouts of animals and men, but no drawn out wails of the dying. Some injuries. No casualties.

_Of course_, you think, and Mustang takes control.

"Falman, scout the area ahead with Havoc, see if you can manage to get a signal to call Headquarters, call for backup. We'll follow behind, the more space between us and them the better, while the wind is in our favour. Keep low, don't inhale too much smoke." The red, flying embers are reflected in everyone's eyes, grim and steady, "And Havoc, keep your arm away from that mud, you want it infected? Cover it with something. Breda, you're in charge of Feury, carry him if need be. Hawkeye..."

His voice is low, worried, and there's suddenly something between you two that you're not sure you want to name. "How's your leg?"

"Fine, sir." Unsaid, as you frown and his worry lines smooth:_ just _who_ is the bodyguard here?_ "Are you alright?"

"Just a graze or two."

His bleeding side calls him out on the white lie. He ignores your glare, moves an arm and brushes sweaty strands of hair out of your face ("-or not? Heh."). He tries to cover the wince when you harshly breathe out, rip what little is left of your uniform jacket to make a compress.

The smoke is making your eyes water.

* * *

The forest passes in a blur as you stare out the ambulance's window, your leg stretched out and bandaged and Mustang's side leaning against your own. Feury groans in his unconscious state, and you see Havoc's fingers twitch, probably aching for a smoke. Falman is asleep. Breda barks replies to the paramedics' questions, gesturing irritably at the paperwork. There's always paperwork.

You're a pack of dogs, you know that. (_Your collars and leashes are so obvious, everyone's dog tags and Mustang's alchemist watch_).

But you're alive. A little battered, but still kicking. You can make up for being dogs soon, sometime, eventually_. (Not really.)_

He whispers things, hot breath hitting the back of your neck. Flickers of promises and trust. (_we didn't kill, we can do it differently, you trusted me and_) Thank you.

You hear him slip.

_"Thank you, Riza..."_

Your hand squeezes his, suddenly, and he pauses, the rest of his words lost. He's turned his face to stare at you and…oh.

His eyes wide and face colouring, it's just Roy. Not Lt. Colonel Mustang. Not Mr Mustang.

He's just Roy, staring, like he used to sometimes, and you- you aren't Hawkeye.

You're just Riza, of course. Tired and upset after a long day. Just 21 years old.

Hawkeye wouldn't dare tighten her grip, wouldn't need his comfort, his presence.

Mustang wouldn't squeeze her hand back, wouldn't even think to rub his thumb across the back of her palm.

No, never.

Those two had the anti-frat rules to worry about, after all.

(_You hold his hand all the way back to Eastern HQ._)


End file.
